Shattering Mirrors: The Rewrite
by Crysania Fay
Summary: Rewrite of Shattering Mirrors. Past HD. Harry Potter is found by the XMen, who offer a home that he never wanted. Finding out that his nemesis is still alive, Harry joins with the XMen to stop him and two others. Please R&R!
1. Broken Wings

_Title_: Shattering Mirrors

_Originally By_: Hades' Phoenix

_Redone By: _Crysania Fay

_Summary_: Professor Xavier and his X-Men find a young, broken boy, with a type of power that has always been regarded a mere fairy tale. Literally. Thus the legacy of Harry Potter, powerful and hardened, is brought into a world where wizards and witches don't exist and mankind is poised on the brink of a devastating war between human and mutant.

_Pairings_: Past Harry/Draco; Scott/Jean

_Rating/Warnings_: R. **Major** angst. Tortured!Harry, as well as Powerful! and Dark!Harry. Also, I never saw the full series of X-Men: Evolution, so I'll have to create my own endings for Magneto and whatnot. There will also be aspects of the movies and the actual comics thrown in as well. Mentions of non-con and gratuitous violence.

_Disclaimer_: Nope, nothing's mine. Except for the people, places, and things you don't recognize.

_Note From Crysania: Hades'_ Phoenix gave her permission for anyone to continue this story, so I am. Though I will be going through the whole story and changing certain things that I never liked or won't work with the way that I want to have this story go. I have to thank Hades' for coming up with this idea. I read this faithfully, and when chapter 11 came up, I was VERY mad to find that she had stopped. I ranted and raved. Then I read that she was allowing others to continue, and I was like, YAY!Plot PlotSo here is the new version of Shattering Mirrors. I hope you enjoy.

_words in italics without proper capitalization_--past memories.

**Words in bold**--mental speech between Harry and Chatoyant.

_Other phrases in Italics_--Harry's thoughts.

* * *

_I don't know what's worth fighting for, or why I have to scream..._

_I don't know why I instigate, and say what I don't mean..._

_I don't know how I got this way; I'll never be alright..._

_So I'm breaking the habit_

_I'm breaking the habit tonight_

_I'll paint it on the walls_

_Cuz I'm the one at fault_

_I'll never fight again_

_And this is how it ends..._

Linkin Park, _Breaking the Habit_

* * *

"I _so _totally cannot wait for the dance."

Scott mentally groaned as Kitty happily chattered on in the backseat of his sports car about Bayville High's winter dance coming up next Friday night, just over a week and a half away.

"So who's your date?" Jean Grey asked curiously with a sly grin, the redhead twisting around in her front seat to look at the preppy sophomore. Scott prepared himself for another bout of 'Girl Gossip' as Kurt called it, pulling to a stop at a snowy intersection a few miles from the Xavier Institute for Gifted Children.

"Is it Lance?" Kurt Vaugner wheedled in his heavily accented tenor, batting his eyelashes dramatically and dodging a swipe from Kitty.

"Like, gross! And like what's up with Amanda?"

"She already knows about everyone, it's okay."

"You so know that's not what I meant!"

Scott, Jean, Kitty, and Kurt, among many others, were mutants, humans that possessed an extra gene called the 'X gene'. This gene granted them abilities most humans did not possess, making them a target for many cruel criticisms and discriminations. Ever since the rest of mankind had found out about this strange strain of DNA, paranoia, fear, and hatred were common traits people showed towards mutants. Were they evil demons? God's vengeance? Results from an experiment gone wrong? Or just a bunch of freaks?

Scott Summers managed to tune out the gossiping girls in his car as he drove steadily between the rising snow banks on either side of the road towards the place he called home. Professor Charles Xavier had mentioned something that morning about feeling something different, like something big was going to happen. It wasn't this announcement itself that was really bothering him; it was the matter of whether this 'something big' would prove to be beneficial-or disastrous.

After Magneto had been defeated, the rest of his Brotherhood had been disbanded and hidden themselves in various places around the world. Fortunately, with the help of Cerebro, Xavier was able to keep track of each mutant's abilities to ensure that they weren't used against humans any longer. Scott mused thoughtfully. Perhaps one of them was attacking humans? It was possible, though unlikely. Sabretooth was dead; Pyro probably didn't have the guts to do something like that; Mystique wasn't stupid and knew enough not to go against Xavier without a cause; the local Brotherhood were limited to basic vandalisms and fights with the mutants of the Institute; Gambit had converted and was slowly adjusting to life at the Institute, so it wasn't him. Dear God, hopefully Juggernaut hadn't gotten free again.

As he pulled up the long drive in front of the large white manor, Kurt yelping and bamfing out of the car to avoid Kitty's angry attack dragged the older boy away from his thoughts, reappearing a few yards away in the branches of a tree.

"Aw, come on Kitty, I was just teasing!"

"You furry little elf, come back here! Oh my God, it's totally freezing out here!"

Jean laughed at the antics of the two young mutants, slipping an arm around Scott's waist for warmth.

"I'm glad Kurt got over his Kitty crush long ago," she said as they stepped past the twin doors and into the large and, most importantly, warm entrance hall. Scott whole-heartedly agreed, saying that the two were so much like bickering siblings a romantic relationship between them would have been very, very strange.

"Scott, Jean, there you are."

The two college students stopped and turned simultaneously, meeting an older man seated in a wheelchair.

"Hey Professor," Scott greeted amiably.

"It would appear that the X-men are needed," Professor Xavier said solemnly in return. "As I told you this morning, Cerebro was picking up strange psychic patterns, but just a few moments ago the readings spiked dramatically."

"A new mutant, or has Magneto somehow come back?"

"I believe it is a new mutant, though I can't be sure. I've never seen such readings; if it is a mutant, it is either an extremely powerful one, or...it is possible that the X gene may have...mutated somehow."

"Is that even possible?" Jean wondered aloud, concerned.

"I don't know. Since the X gene is specific to every person that carries it-which is why there are so many different kinds of mutants-it's impossible to say."

"Did you manage to track down the source?"

"I believe so. What was strange, though, was that I had trouble reaching past the source's barriers, meaning they are either a psychic or have dealt with them before. I wasn't able to pick up much because of the distance and the source's resistance, but from what I could...I would suggest that all of you take extra precaution."

The tall college student cursed silently to himself. If Professor Xavier, the most powerful telepath that currently lived, had trouble reaching into this person's mind, just what kind of person would they prove to be?

And what could Professor X have gotten from this person to warn them to be careful?

Scott hated having so many questions, though at least his previous worries were no longer in existence.

"I'll go tell the others," he volunteered, gently disentangling himself from his girlfriend's waist and moving towards the doors.

Kitty and Kurt were having a snowball fight along with several of the younger students at the Institute, all screaming and laughing and messing around, with the valley girl Kitty complaining loudly about her new jacket being ruined.

"God, you guys, I like just bought this!"

"Lighten up, Kitty, you're tense," Kurt grinned at her, his blue fur matted to his skinny frame by the wet snow. His three-fingered hands were each holding snowballs ready to fly, and his forked tail brandished another threateningly. The golden almond eyes glittered in mischievous happiness.

Though other matters pressed him, Scott couldn't help but be glad that Kurt was acting his old self once again. When his true appearance had been made public, he possibly suffered the worst attacks from people who thought he was a real demon. He had withdrawn into himself, becoming sullen and moody and self-deprecating, as the fire in his soul had been beaten down almost to extinction. His store of trust had been worn down, and it had taken a long time for the elf to trust and open up once again. And while he may have looked like a furry, blue evil creature, the brilliant golden eyes were too kind and the heart too soft and caring to ever really enable those who truly knew him to think of him as the bloodthirsty creature he was often painted out to be.

Scott shook his head; he was becoming as bad as Jean, spacing off at odd times to think.

"Kitty, Kurt, Spike! Come on, X-Men business!"

A bit reluctantly the three mentioned teens pulled themselves away from the others and jogged up to Scott.

"What's up with the prof?" Spike asked curiously, the skateboarder brushing snow off the shoulder of his bomber jacket.

Scott motioned for them to follow him back inside the Institute. "Apparently, there's a new mutant, but the professor isn't sure exactly who or what they are."

Kurt grinned and waved cheerily. "See all you slowpokes inside!"

And he teleported away.

"We have to be careful. Professor X seems a bit worried," Scott said, giving them a pointed look.

"Like when have we NOT been careful?" Kitty asked nonchalantly, putting her arms behind her head and walking with a purposeful saunter.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Scott retorted dryly.

"No," Spike answered quickly.

"Just, this time, no fooling around. We don't know what we're up against."

"Here?" Rogue asked incredulously in her heavy Southern accent, peering out into the thick lining of trees not far from where the so-named 'X-Jet' had landed. Her gloved hands were buried deep within the folds of her long black trench coat, and she didn't relish the prospect of having to trek through a snow-covered forest in zero-degree weather, even more so during a full moon.

"According to the professor," Scott said, though his confident voice was slightly tinged with doubt.

Sighing, Rogue unbuckled her seatbelt and stood near the exit of the jet, waiting for Logan, alias Wolverine, to release the catch.

"Don't worry, sis, I'll keep you warm," Kurt piped, slinging an arm around the punk with a wink. "Sure makes you wish you had fur like me, huh?"

"Not particularly," she muttered, though her purple-colored lips curved slightly at the corners in a faint smile. Kurt pretended to look wounded, giving her large puppy eyes that, though she would never admit it, made her heart feel softer towards her adopted brother.

"That's enough Kurt," Scott sternly admonished. "Remember the professor's warning to be cautious?"

Rogue hid her smile at Kurt's faked innocence.

"Okay, now we aren't sure where exactly this mutant is," he continued speaking to the rest of the group, the lens of his eyepiece reflecting ruby in the rising moonlight. "So that means we're going to have to split up."

"Storm, I would like you to stay here with the jet," Xavier began. "Then you will be able to keep our vision clear without interruption. Rogue, Kurt, go with Jean."

Rogue mentally groaned; Jean was great and all, but quite honestly the older mutant got on her nerves a bit too easily for her to be comfortable with.

"Kitty and Spike please go with Scott."

By now, everyone had learned that Logan preferred being able to 'hunt' alone.

"What about you, Professor?" Kitty inquired.

"I will be going with your group."

"Oh."

"Jean, keep your mind open in case anything goes wrong."

"Of course."

There was brief moment of silence.

"If that's all," Rogue drawled, finally punching the release on the hatch, "then what are we waiting for? Let's get this over with."

She strode confidently down the ramp, Kurt moving just behind her.

"Well, c'mon!" he called out. "Last one is a Blob!"

The small group of X-Men finally set off into different directions. Rogue watched Logan lope off straight into the thickest part of the trees.

"Think he'll be able to smell anything in this weather?" Rogue wondered aloud. Kurt shrugged. Jean didn't answer; she was too busy opening her mind to the surrounding areas to try and detect a stirring, unfamiliar human mind.

The fresh snow crunched beneath her heavy black boots, and the atmosphere was warmer inside the trees by a fraction of a degree. She guessed it was because the chilling wind's probing fingers was being blocked by the huge megaliths of ancient life stretching out from the cold ground towards the dark moon-filled sky. She had always had rather excellent night vision; her hazel eyes picked apart the space between tree trunks and beneath every bush to try and find some clue to the person's whereabouts, the moonlight adding a surreal glow to her surroundings.

"Have you found him yet?" Kurt asked Jean quietly, and the telekinetic telepath shook her head.

"No, only the other X-Men and a few larger animals."

"I wonder where he could be?"

"How do you know it's a guy?" Rogue demanded, her voice slightly testy.

Kurt looked taken aback. "I don't, but I thought it would just be easier to call him a 'he' instead of 'that person' or 'it'."

Rogue had to admit he had a point, just before she cursed softly. A low whippy branch had snagged the hem of her long coat.

"Shh," Jean said sharply, suddenly stopping in her tracks and concentrating. Rogue snorted, crossing her arms and leaning against a tree. Her curiosity was beginning to get peaked. Had Jean or the prof found the new mutant yet? Should prove to be interesting.

The thought of a roaring fire and hot chocolate with little marshmallows swimming freely as they melted made her wish that the search would hurry itself up.

She was cold.

Mississippi was never this cold.

"I found something." Jean's voice cut into her thoughts abruptly. Pointing in a northerly direction, Jean murmured, "That way. I already let the professor know, he'll meet us over there."

"Let's go then," Rogue snapped out, irritated, as she pushed herself away from the tree and resolutely moved in the direction the redhead had indicated.

Kurt teleported out of sight, returning a moment later a few yards in front of the two girls' path. "I checked out the area from a bird's view," he reported, pulling a twig from his long indigo hair. "I don't see anything unusual, other than a big open space with a rather small lake."

"Thanks, Kurt," Jean answered, smiling tightly. Rogue watched her carefully with one eye, the other making sure that she wouldn't trip over a stray root. Their esteemed leader was tense about something, as her lips were thinner than usual and her jade green eyes narrowed slightly; apparently whatever she had sensed had her worried.

Kurt saluted smartly and bounded forward on all fours, running lightly over the frigid earth like a young deer. His tail whipped back and forth, his pointed ears finely tuned for any outside movement.

For what Rogue guessed to be between ten or fifteen minutes, the trio walked as quietly as they could, searching, seeking for any signs of the anomalous mutant. The trees seemed only to thicken, and she gradually became aware of a thin breeze slipping fluidly between the wide-girthed giants of trees, before they quite suddenly became spaced out and stopped altogether. Rogue cautiously peered forward past the last tree, her breath catching.

Moonlight poured in endless streams across the night sky-darkened water's surface, glittering and flowing softly, seeming to wrap every blade of grass in a pale gentle grip. The snowfall had obviously ceased some time before, as there were now only faint swirls of powder occasionally caught on a chilled yet playful breeze.

A fairly tall person stood near the edge of the small lake with the back turned to the forest, the frayed hem of the long, faded black coat moved silently by the same breezes that swirled the powder and tugged lightly upon the dark hair pulled into a small ponytail at the nape of the neck. Torn baggy jeans, scuffed black boots, and a loose black shirt made it anyone's guess as to the person's build, though Rogue guessed him to be male from what she could see. A porcelain-colored owl with bars of brown on her wings perched serenely on one of his hands, while the other stroked her with a belied gentleness.

"I'll handle it," Jean whispered, though Rogue caught a note of hesitation. She and Kurt stepped back slightly to indicate they understood, and the goth's heart skipped slightly as the telepath stepped boldly into the clearing and approached the mutant, stopping a few yards away.

"Hello," she began in her kindest, most understanding voice.

The stranger didn't answer.

The owl turned slightly, watching her with unsettlingly knowing eyes.

Rogue guessed that Jean had decided on the direct approach.

"I know you may a bit confused and afraid. I was too, when my powers began to manifest."

The stranger's shoulders tensed slightly.

"We can help you. You don't have to run away."

Silence.

"Everyone needs help sometimes, but you can't be afraid of asking. Or trusting."

A movement from the stranger made Rogue squint to try and see it better.

Something was crawling down his leg.

Something long and sinuous, scaled and predatory.

The serpent hissed upon finally reaching the ground and weaving towards Jean. The redhead stepped back, unsure.

"Th-that's a beautiful snake," Jean began, attempting to continue to talk to the stranger.

The said snake stopped its progress and reared upwards in the stance usually taken by serpents about to strike, it's entirety of three-foot length apparently ready for an attack. Ivory fangs shimmered wetly. It hissed.

"We wish only to help you."

Rogue whirled around to see Professor Xavier in his wheelchair moving forwards to stand beside Jean. He seemed unconcerned by the viper-thing.

"We are mutants. Every one of us has gone through exactly what you are now; we can help you learn control and how to manage your powers, whatever they may be."

The snowy owl suddenly screeched and spread her wings, flying upwards towards the open night sky. The stranger's murmuring grew above a whisper, enabling the rest to hear.

"No one can help me."

Rogue expected the voice to be hysterical, or enraged, or fearful, or desperate.

But the tenor voice was as calm as though they had gathered here to discuss nothing more than the weather possibilities of the next day.

"Learn to overcome whatever fear you may have; please, allow us to help you," Xavier tried again.

"What should we do?" Rogue whispered to Kurt. The elf seemed oddly pensive, and it took him a moment to answer.

"I think we should leave him be," he whispered back, uncharacteristically serious. "Someone like him will ask for our help only if he truly needs it, and not before. Pressuring him may only have serious results."

She stared at the stranger in her adopted brother's skin.

"Er..."

"Please, let us help you," Jean implored.

The stranger remained silent, staring across the water. He had yet to turn and look at the X-Men. Instead, moments of silence stretched on for a brief eternity.

"Stay out of my mind."

The short statement was obviously directed at the professor, and the calm had dissolved into a coldness Rogue had never before heard. The stranger turned around, for the first time revealing what he truly looked like.

His skin was pale, ever so pale, unmarred except for the thin scar that traced across his right cheekbone, and another that danced brutally across the expanse of his slender throat and down beneath the collar of the shirt. His face was narrow and had high cheekbones, making him appear almost gaunt; but it was his eyes that sent the shiver down her spine. They were so lost, so haunted and distant in their intensity they seemed to gaze into one's soul, picking apart every memory and each emotion, pulling apart your essence to scrutinize the most intimate of moments and feelings. They were of the jaded kind, where the inner flame of the soul that lived behind them had been scattered to the winds. The full, blood red lips were the only sign of emotion; they had tightened in anger, as those intense, frightening eyes gazed at Professor Xavier as they delivered their verbal warning at the psychic probing Rogue was positive the professor had tried to do.

Rogue felt a surge of protectiveness towards Xavier, the only father figure she had ever known, and for an inexplicable second she felt that this newcomer was dangerous, and lethally so. Impulsively, she stepped out from the cover of the trees. She was followed by Spike, Kitty, Logan, Scott, and finally Kurt, the six of them standing a short ways behind Jean and Xavier.

The snake, momentarily forgotten by the others, slithered back towards the stranger who bent to allow it to twist itself around his arm in a macabre imitation of jewelry.

"Do you think you have anywhere else to go?" Rogue snapped, ignoring the shocked gasps and glares sent to her from the rest of her comrades. "Do you think that normal people would accept you as who you are? They're afraid of mutants!" She didn't know why she felt so hostile towards this new mutant, but her instinct kept telling her either hightail it as fast as possible out of there, or snarl and bite, the latter of which she sensed may be the wrong course of action.

The not-quite-a-boy stared at her, and she saw a frighteningly inhuman blank look taking over the former shadows. It was as though he were a statue carved from white marble, with dulled emeralds placed in the eye sockets and ruby for the mouth.

Kurt loped forward, standing straight when he stood just in front of him. Rogue was distantly surprised that he wasn't wearing his image inducer.

"Kurt Vaugner. Nightcrawler," he murmured. The stranger looked at him searchingly for a long stretch, then answered in his soft, weary voice.

"Harry Potter."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

_Blood._

_The sharp scent pierced his senses brutally._

_It seemed he could always smell blood. Blood he had spilled; blood he was spilling; blood that he would spill inevitably in the future._

_The ground was soaked in blood._

_So were his clothes. It'll never come out, he mused. Good thing they're black._

_The entire place was drenched in crimson._

_Still forms slumped over every available surface. Silence ruled where once it had been noisy, chaotic, an absence that pounded at the skull to make itself heard, as absolute as its complete opposite. Death was not a silent killer, though that is what was left in its wake. No, death was represented by many sounds; a harsh, wracking cough, a scream of sheer agony, the cries of one left behind and wanting, a rattle as the last breath slipped out between two cracked, parched lips, fanning over the thick liquid red that dripped slowly to the flayed ribs of an unforgiving earth. Death was a murderer that could not be punished, a killer that stole life indiscriminately from all races and genders, young and old, wealthy or left on the streets._

_He despised Death, yet would welcome it when it came._

_The once proud structure stood, forsaken and forgotten, whole corridors demolished and staircases destroyed, stones crumbling to dust and walls groaning as they began to give in to the inevitable. Tapestries shredded, portraits slashed, the life and laughter that was once embodied within raped, gutted, and left to wither and die._

_Faces, so many faces...why were they there, why didn't they run... faces of them all, all he'd ever known, ever loved, ever cherished...he knew them all. He knew each and every one, their name and birthday, or perhaps their favorite food, maybe their most difficult class, or the sound of their voice as they laughed at a shared joke, or maybe something else just as personal..._

_It was too much. The power, it was too much. It pounded relentlessly in his skull, screaming with the other voices, crackled and sparked along his skin. It surged through his veins, begging and demanding, afraid and courageous, silent yet roaring with the sound of a tempest at sea..._

_A soft shimmering, a flickering light...it was a blade, the blade gifted to him an eternity ago by the dead, that had been itself destroyed and then reincarnated...a blade that could slice, cut oh so deeply, bring a permanent darkness...he didn't want to see anymore, want to feel anymore...emotions could destroy you, be used against you...but he hadn't felt in so long, a long time..._

_...More blood...don't be upset, please...oh no, too much, too much, it's rushing, streaming, pouring...bleeding...it hurts, it hurts so much, it rages, it's not happy...help me, please, help me, save me, don't let me fall...Siri, Ron...Mum, Dad, I'll never see you...I'll never see anyone again, I'm too dark, too angry, too soaked...now I know what a fallen angel feels, my wings are shattered, broken, I'll never fly...but I'm not sad..._

_...So why do my tears fall?_

* * *

Kurt's last name will be spelled _Vaugner_ rather than _Wagner_.

AN: So… What do you think? I hope that you noticed some of the things that I changed. CoughSpellingCough Though I really didn't change anything here story line wise… But that will change in chapter 3 or so. Catch you on the flip side!

R&R Please!


	2. Life Is Called Insanity

Shattering Mirrors

Redone by: Crysania Fay

Chapter 2

_Disclaimer_: If you want to see the disclaimer, then I suggest that you go check out the first chapter. Thank you.

_words in italics without proper capitalization_--past memories.

**Words in bold**--mental speech between Harry and Chatoyant.

_Other phrases in Italics_--Harry's thoughts.

* * *

"_Beneath each came forth two great wings…they had no feathers, but their fashion was of a bat; and he was flapping them so that three winds were proceeding from him, whereby Cocytus was all congealed. With six eyes he was weeping, and over three chins were trickling the tears and the bloody drivel. At each mouth he was crushing a sinner with his teeth…so that thus he was making three of them woeful."_

_-_Dante's_ The Divine Comedy_

* * *

_Falling. _

_The mirror shattered._

_Shattered._

Consciousness returned in an unwelcome rush of sensation, and it took Harry a moment to realize that he was, indeed, still alive.

Damn.

He kept his eyes closed, savoring the numb, sweetly burning feeling on his back.

Oddly enough, it felt like snow.

Panic suddenly rushed through his head, making his adrenaline level soar. They were all dead, all of them, because of him…

…_all his fault…_

He cursed his weakness. How could he have lost so much control? Had not everyone taught him to rein in his temper, how to control himself? And he failed them.

Well, no; he destroyed them.

_All his fault._

With his eyes still closed, Harry curled into a tight ball, shivering from the cold from the snow and the deadened pieces of his heart.

So much blood.

Screaming.

Pleas.

His breathing quickened, his panic refusing to be shoved back. He had failed, he was worthless, a freak just like his uncle had always said…

_I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry_ he sobbed to the voices pounding through his thoughts. _I'm sorry…_

_Well that's not going to make everything all right now is it? _sneered a snide voice. _You always were an incompetent, Potter._ _Potions, Occlumency, even your friendships—what dear Albus ever found in you I shall never know._

_I'm sorry_ he gasped out.

A soft hooting interrupted his mental torture session.

Hedwig?

**Open your eyes, hon.**

_Chatoyant_?

With a strength of will Harry had forgotten he possessed, he finally managed to slit open his eyes just enough to see.

White; the color of purity, virginity, holiness. Everything he was not.

Opening his eyes completely, he found himself to be laying near the edge of a small lake, perhaps only a bit more than a quarter of a mile in diameter. Thick trees surrounded the little clearing and lake in which he currently resided.

His muscles seemed infused with a liquid lethargy, and he felt exhausted. The voices had disappeared upon Hedwig and Chatoyant's interruption, leaving an emptiness that was almost as bad as its predecessor. Wearily, his lifted his arms to his face, wincing at the creaking aches shooting through his joints, and examined them. Thin silver lines ran from the base of his palm to about a third of the way up his arm, no sign of the previous violence or blood that caused and resulted from them remaining. Other silvery traces danced delicately along his pale skin, some done in soft turns and curves of torture, others straight and harsh from rushed desperation.

Self-loathing squeezed his heart mercilessly.

He had broken his promise.

But everyone was dead, so they would hardly know or care.

Harry sat up agonizingly slowly, lightheaded and hollow. His faithful, loving owl chirped in her quirky way, stepping into his lap purposefully and settling herself down.

There was soft, sad laughter in the back of his mind.

**She's a wonderful creature** a quiet tone murmured in his thoughts. A snake, previously curled for warmth beneath the collar of his shirt, slithered out with her tongue flickering.

Chatoyant, his shape-shifting familiar.

**Yes, she is** Harry agreed, and then spoke aloud. "I'm sorry, Hedwig, but I have to stand up or I'll freeze."

Even to his own ears his voice sounded weary, old; made fragile by a dying soul.

The snowy owl hooted and fluttered out of his lap, instead latching onto his arm as he shakily stood. He attempted a smile, but failed, so instead settled for brushing his fingers over her soft plumage.

He could not remember the last time he had smiled. The only emotions he could remember were hatred and rage. Happiness had been thrown aside and lost long ago.

Where he was he did not know, and a brief inquiry to his familiar produced similar results. Lost.

Lost.

Well, at least now his physical predicament matched his mental one.

The knife Sirius had given him what felt like so long ago lay in the numb cold white snow a few infinite feet away. He waved a hand absently, and the small blade was magically returned to the folds in his coat. Pensively, he gazed deeply into Hedwig's wise golden eyes.

Only a few days before, he had stared into a different set of eyes. Malevolent, crimson eyes, slitted like a snake in a face paler than a forgotten bone left to the sun for it to bleach itself of all color.

And the downward spiral had finally been broken upon sharp reality.

Everyone was dead.

Hogwarts had been destroyed.

Four mere moonrises ago.

Because he had lost control.

Because he had let the all-too-human emotions of rage and hatred flood his thoughts and poison his heart, and guide his actions in the manner of a ship towards the hidden glaciers under a tranquil backdrop.

The magical power in his soul had stirred and risen to the surface as a dragon does from a deep sleep to a baiting prey; it had surged forth, splintering his well-loved wand in its eagerness, ripping deep into the earth, roaring into the sky and tearing with a dreadful shriek of uncontrolled carnal rage into the near-immortal body of a creature that had dared try to destroy him, had dared to rend apart the precious lives he had held so dear.

What most wizards did not know was that magic often had a mind of its own; the greater the concentration and age, the more sentient it became. And it had reacted to its teenage channel's wishes, a boy no more than a channel because no one could be a complete master of this omniscient and omnipresent force; but it had followed its ally's wishes and gushed forth, examining every mind within a twenty mile radius and judging it in an eternity that lasted less than a millisecond.

There was no such thing as Light or Dark. Good or evil. Only blank gray.

_evil._

_malice._

All the tainted minds were splintered. Deatheaters, faces frozen in a mocking mask of surprise and agony, dropped lifeless to the ground, their deep blood dripping in scarlet ribbons to the ground. The Dark creatures; werewolves, vampires, Dementors, chimaeras, abracax, basilisk, golem, troll—all that had allied with the Dark Lord—were reduced to mere mounds of still flesh and clay that lent to the air the reek of charred corpses and fur.

_The full moon had cried pearls of tinted essence._

And for that one, terrible moment when his, Harry's, mind shared Voldemort's, the two briefly becoming a single entity; their thoughts had been the same. Their emotions were the same. And Harry had felt that mind finally snap beneath the strain, the delicate framework collapsing with a dull roar as it shattered.

Silence.

Always there was silence where Death visited.

The ones that had been spared by the magic's judgment were either dead or dying, their souls already escaping into the astral world.

But he had been left alone.

Alone. In silence.

At least the thrice-damned prophecy was fulfilled.

But not even the cold sharpness of his blade had called upon Death.

No, instead, he was here. Lost.

The fresh pale snow was a sharp contrast to the dark, damp earth muddy with lifeblood. Even the air was clear, sharp; untainted.

For how long he stood there nearly obliterated by the falling masses of pale snow in intrusive cold he didn't know. To Harry, time no longer mattered.

**We are not alone** Chatoyant's tired voice finally broke softly into his thoughts, and he started, shaking his head as a wolf pup would do to water.

Something probed his mental barriers.

His hackles rose angrily, instinctively.

No one was allowed into his mind.

No one.

Harry sent a short wave of spiked coldness along a psychic thread and reinforced his walls.

No one.

After a few tense moments of waiting, his senses strained to their maximum, he caught the sound of snow crunching beneath feet.

Approximately two, probably three; medium height, young, he guessed. Their scents were heavy on the chilled wind, overlaying the smells of the lake and the surrounding trees.

Automatically he continued the stroking of Hedwig's feathers, still staying alert for any more movement. Two stopped some ways away, but the third continued towards him, halting a bit closer than he would have liked.

"Hello."

Female, about late teens, early twenties at the most. A confident, motherly, possibly overbearing type, judging from the voice.

Sometimes even Harry himself got sick of his paranoid analytical habits.

"I know you may a bit confused and afraid. I was too, when my powers began to manifest."

Harry tensed slightly, the hand petting the snowy owl hesitating ever so minutely. Could she know? Could she know what kind of person—no, monster—he was? Was she a witch? But he felt no magical presence.

"We can help you. You don't have to run away."

Oh, but how he wanted to. He wanted to run until his legs gave out, until his mind could give into to merciful darkness.

"Everyone needs help sometimes, but you can't be afraid of asking. Or trusting."

Trust was what had killed Remus and Ron. Trust had put him in this position; trust was a fucking lie veiled in gossamer threads.

He started slightly when he felt Chatoyant slither down his legs, her ire making itself known in his mind.

Girl doesn't know of what she speaks. Little bitch…

And usually Chatoyant was the one chiding him for losing his temper.

"Th-that's a beautiful snake."

An unseen smirk curved his lips. If only she knew what the 'snake' really was.

"We wish only to help you."

A new voice. A voice that sounded like—

_I cared about you too much. I cared more for your happiness than your knowing the truth, more for your peace of mind than my plan, more for your life than the lives that might be lost if the plan failed. In other words, I acted exactly as Voldemort expects us fools who love to act _:1:

Only fools love.

That muggle song Hermoine used to like, "Only Fools Rush In"…

And fools are the ones that die.

So why was he still alive? Why could he not just _fucking die!_

"We are mutants. Every one of us has gone through exactly what you are now; we can help you learn control and how to manage your powers, whatever they may be."

He suppressed the inane laughter bubbling up within him. He could never control his power, not true magic; and no one was allowed inside his head, into his scattered thoughts and horrid nightmares and ravaged screams that only he could hear.

As though sensing his distress, Hedwig took flight in a flurry of biting talons and harsh shrieks.

He could feel others behind him, more emerging from the cover of the snow-laden foliage.

Yet he felt as alone as he had ever felt.

He was the only one left upon this God-forsaken mud ball of a world. And God truly had abandoned them. Him.

Alone, screaming into an endless silence.

"No one can help me." As though from a distance he could hear his own voice responding, tired and weary of this half-life he was being forced to live.

"Learn to overcome whatever fear you may have; please, allow us to help you."

_c'mon, harry, let us help you. we're following you through to the end, whether you agree or not, and we're comin' out the other side together_

together.

_Lies_.

"Please, let us help you."

_help us, harry! please, don't let him win_

The screams had returned, along with that probing feeling on his walls. Rage swelled.

No one.

No one was allowed to touch him.

"Stay out of my mind."

Harry turned slowly, for the first time seeing the people so insistent on futilely trying to help him.

A tall redheaded woman with green eyes, her image sending a pain into his heart.

_your mother was a wonderful woman, harry. your da' was a lucky man_

The eyes of the man in the wheelchair, so much like the eccentric wizard that had tried so hard, so hard to save both him and the rest of the wizarding world, all for naught…

To avoid their eyes, he stooped to allow Chatoyant to wrap herself around his arm.

The others, a fierce determination in their eyes, but…they were still innocent. No, not completely, for their mannerisms spoke of a harsh past; but they were still ignorant of the darkest ways of humanity.

_what's the matter, child? Not having fun? i am .i think red suits your body quite well. hmm, who would have thought that blood could taste like wine?_

A brunette spoke harshly, protective anger in her eyes. He had seen that look before, many times, both in himself and in his dreams. Most often in a parent's eyes in the face of Deatheaters.

Mutant. Not wizard. Not magic, but genetic alterations to the human DNA.

A creature, skinny and lanky yet graceful in his feline movements, stepped up fearlessly in front of him, staring at him from a blue fur-covered but human face. Golden eyes that relayed sympathy and understanding, their color dark.

"Kurt Vaugner. Nightcrawler."

He was sincere. This Kurt, he understood. He understood the need for silence, the need for masks. But his eyes were so like Moony's, gilded of precious metal and given the soft glow of true kindness and a heart open to others, and thus he took the biggest leap of faith he had done since fourth year.

"Harry Potter."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Tense silence filled the atmosphere in the jet on the way back to the Institute. Harry was silent and motionless, his eyes closed and head tilted forward just enough to allow his bangs to fall forward and obscure his face. Chatoyant's flat, serpentine head rested comfortably beneath his chin, but his shoulders felt oddly light without the weight of his precious Hedwig perched there like a winged feathery sentinel. He could feel the burden of the others' gazes on him, sharp and calculating as the business edge of a sword, yet too blunt to wound and thus deserve his attention.

Everything felt distant and surreal. He felt almost detached from the situation, like a muggle watching the breaking news story on television, or as if it were happening to another. In some part of his mind, he was faintly concerned that he was so calm given the current circumstances.

This had happened before, many times, and vaguely he remembered Madame Pomfrey _now really, child, you really must learn to be more careful! i might as well just give you your own permanent quarters here_ telling him about the symptoms and side effects of shock. Considering he had been running on an adrenaline rush and severe depression for the last four hours or so and the rather dark situations that he had been forced to participate in, it was actually quite a testament to his will that he could still breathe fairly normally, let alone interact with other members of his hated species without losing it.

Here comes a candle, to light your way to bed…

**Hold that thought, hon** Chatoyant interrupted smoothly. **It seems that big, bad, and ugly decided to finally take an interest in you.**

For one panic filled moment, Harry thought she meant the Dark Lord, until a heavy animal-like musk reached his heightened senses.

Oh; the mutant they called Logan.

"Why do you smell like blood?" he growled.

Shit.

Harry felt his mind snap into automatic hyper-drive, analyzing the quickest way to incapacitate the huge bulk of a mutant in front of him, the most plausible excuse to make him remain ignorant, and the most efficient route to the jet's exit.

_it's pouring…rushing, flowing—drowning…too much…_

No, they could not ever know.

No one.

Harry slitted open his eyes, letting the full force of his emotions fuel the intensity of his glare and the twist of his sneering lips.

Been around Snape too much, he mused.

"Haven't had a chance to change my clothes for the last four days."

_Yeah, for the last four days I've been wallowing in despair and insanity. Nothing too important._

Mental snort.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Rogue looked shocked and Kitty about to gag. Logan's dark eyes, a deep brown ringed within by yellow _) wizards hate people like me, they hate werewolves) _narrowed slightly, the pupil contracting sharply.

"Logan," the crippled man's voice said sternly.

Logan backed off, but Harry could read hostility and distrust in every line of his face.

Countless times he had faced that same expression. He could feel the hilt of the dagger Sirius had given him long ago pressing lightly into his ribcage.

Deliver us, Lord, from evil and temptation…

Chatoyant stirred, her head moving so that she was staring at him in the eye and her coils tightening in warning.

**I almost lost you to yourself not long ago** she hissed. **I won't let that happen again**

Guilt surged through his heart, and her tail flicked him in the air in a scolding manner.

"So, uh, where are you from?"

Kitty's voice abruptly caught his attention, but he gave no outward sign. Where was he from? England. Near London. Godric's Hollow. Well, his mother's womb, actually, just like her from her own mother's. Did that make them of the same nationality? Hmm, what an interesting idea. Though he doubted the others would appreciate it.

"England," he said, shortly, before his throat closed off. There. More trust. Whoa, he was on a roll these last couple hours.

"Really?" How strange, she sounded relieved. Why? "What's it like?"

Hell, actually, though the summers aren't too bad.

Hell.

_let me in, boy. grant me access to your power, that delectable power_

_it burned, scorching his skin, leaving trails of wildfire in the blade's wake_

_you've never been touched, have you? how sweetly innocent. let me hear you scream asi take you, make you mine forever_

Half-blocked images and memories suddenly began pounding on the inside of his skull, shrieking and clamoring for attention like thousands of tiny birds waiting for food from their sole benefactor. He could faintly hear Chatoyant calling to him, trying to bring him back from the edge of the abyss.

_it's called insanity, harry; when you fall, reality is no longer the only sovereign of your universe_

**Harry**!

The inside of the X-Jet returned, exactly the same as he had left it only a few lifetimes ago. Distantly, he found that his eyes had been screwed shut and his entire body tense as a bowstring, teeth gritted painfully together. He also had not answered Kitty's question.

Nor was he going to, either. Let the fucking bitch wonder, she had no right digging into his private affairs! Why couldn't everyone just LEAVE HIM ALONE!

**_Calm down, Harry_** his familiar murmured, sending waves of warmth and reassurance through their psychic link. **_Wait till no one is around. Besides, I think that she was just trying to make polite conversation. She's obviously a drama queen; it's like their instinct to pick up on something so personal._** The voice changed to sound like a professor's lecture**. _Apparently, we get to observe these far too common creatures in their native habitat, seeking out their prey with the subtlety of a hippogriff that had a hive of hornets shoved up its ass._**

Harry mentally smiled.

There were certain advantages to having Chatoyant as a familiar. Such as now, though Harry had his eyes closed, he could see through his familiar's eyes within his mind. Arabella Figg had once mentioned that it was strikingly similar to a muggle movie she had seen once several years ago, called "The Crow", in which the main character could see through the eyes of the crow rather like a vision seen through warped glass. At least Harry had a clear view, not warped or distorted or colorless. Come to find out, one of the directors had, in fact, been a wizard.

Harry shook his head slightly, just enough to clear his head of his mundane thoughts.

Through Chatoyant's eyes, Harry could see outside the window. With a jolt he realized that the snow-covered forest had been left far behind, judging from the lack of it in his view, and had given way to towns and cities and other structures of human civilization. They must be nearing their destination.

Oh, whoops, the old man is talking.

"The Xavier Institute is designed to give mutants a home where they can be themselves, a place where they'll be able to live amongst others like them without fear of prosecution or the need for secrecy," the professor was saying. "They are also able to learn the full extent and control of their powers, no matter what they may be, so that they'll be able to live normal lives when they leave."

"Normal is far too relative," Harry said softly, visibly startling the other occupants of the jet as his eyes opened. Xavier gazed at him pensively, but Harry returned the look stoically. In the back of his mind he could hear Chatoyant muttering darkly. Harry had never been normal. He did not even have the luxury of pretending to be, like the Dursley's had often done.

Because he happened to be the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, and was now the Walking-Weapon-That-Lost-Control-and-Killed-His-Loved-Ones.

His stomach slipped slightly as the jet descended a bit, probably in preparation to land wherever they were headed. Kitty sat up straighter in her seat, and Rogue unfolded her long legs from beneath her, removing Kurt's tail from where it had been quietly resting in her lap.

Harry glanced out the window, and for a moment was stunned. A huge waterfall, cascading over harsh, sharp tawny rocks, plunged several hundred feet down to the shoreline, the end of the water's fall hidden from view by thick white mist reflecting the moonlight eerily. Emerald moss and tiny sapphire flowers sprouted from joints in the rock, continuously fed by spray flowing gently over them.

It took Harry's breath away.

As they drew nearer to the bluff, Harry could make out a grand estate, with mowed lawns and a large ornamental fountain in front of a great white mansion supported by tall marble columns. He was faintly relieved to see the forest that lined one side of the property, stretching for a good ways.

Humans had a bad habit of destroying the ecosystems that provided them with life.

In mute amazement, he watched the waterfall, as it seemed to split down the center near the upper half, revealing a gaping cavern quite obviously made by human hands and not Mother Nature's.

**Interesting woman, that one** Chatoyant observed blithely.

The jet lowered, and the white-haired woman Harry faintly recalled as Storm guided the huge machine in skillfully, helped by Scott in the co-pilot seat.

"Home sweet home!" Spike said with a grin, stretching lazily. Kurt agreed enthusiastically, twisting around in his seat.

There was heavy bump as the jet landed in a darkened hangar, and the faint, constant humming that had been dismissed as background noise faded away as Storm cut the engine.

"Finally!" The German elf disappeared in a burst of smoke and a light flash.

Harry had whirled around with his knife in hand before he had fully registered what had happened, body ready in a defensive position and his eyes narrowed.

"Whoa, like, calm down," Kitty stuttered, taking a step back. Harry ignored her, instead giving a look to Xavier.

"Kurt's gift is teleportation," the man explained calmly. "I believe he also calls it bamfing."

After a moment, Harry slid the blade back within his cloak and willed his heart to slow down, furious at himself. Control. He let his reflexes get the best of him, and while it had saved his life on much more than one occasion, he could have seriously harmed another person had they been standing somewhere nearer to him.

_Stupid boy_! He chastised himself.

That would have been unforgivable. Especially since the only cure to the poison laced on the blade was in one of the many small vials he had used a Shrinking Charm on and placed in his pocket.

The poison took only seven and a half seconds to kill.

Dear Goddess, why had he agreed to come here?

This was going to be difficult.

* * *

:1: Dumbledore said this to Harry within the last few chapters or so of the fifth book.

Once again, nothing too new, but I hope that you noticed the spelling changes… Not that Hades' is a bad speller, but she was probably not that particular about it. Just shows that I am too picky…

R&R! Or I will kill you!


	3. The Scars of Reality

Shattering Mirrors

Redone by: Crysania Fay

Chapter 3

_Disclaimer_: If you want to see the disclaimer, then I suggest that you go check out the first chapter. Thank you.

_Note:_ Harry is sixteen, and sixth year just ended for him. Chatoyant is a shape-shifting familiar, and has no real form. Why that is, Harry will explain later. Hedwig is just an owl, _not _a familiar like in a lot of fics, but since I like her a lot (she has an awful lot of attitude for an owl) and she was Harry's first real friend, I wanted to keep her. And Harry is _not _a mutant--he's still a wizard.

_words in italics without proper capitalization_--past memories.

**Words in bold**--mental speech between Harry and Chatoyant.

_Other phrases in Italics_--Harry's thoughts.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Jean yawned quietly as she padded down the hallway to the kitchen to begin making breakfast. Because she was often the first person to awake in the mornings, the responsibility usually fell to her.

The scarlet hall carpet was soothing beneath her feet in its texture and familiarity. Passing a statue bust perched on its stand, she pushed open the door to the kitchens and set herself to making coffee. The liquid was an absolute necessity if a student from the Institute wanted to be coherent enough when they got to school to tell the difference between their right and left.

'Must be a mutant thing,' she laughed softly to herself. Putting the pot beneath the drip, she switched on the countertop radio.

"_And all you wanted was somebody who caares_..."

The cold milk bottle clinked lightly against the door as she pulled it out along with the carton of eggs. French toast sounded good, and she was sure the others would appreciate it.

Especially after last night.

Her movements slowed as her thoughts turned towards the time after they had gotten back to the Institute after picking up their newest member.

It had become customary for the newest mutant to sit in the living room with the others; not in the big, intimidating one that Xavier used with important visitors, but the smaller, cozier, and more welcoming one. There, surrounded by those they would come to call friends and, perhaps, family, the newcomer would speak with Xavier about their powers and any concerns or questions they had, enabling a chance for the person to become more intimately acquainted with the others that lived at the school. They would learn that they were accepted for who they were, not being hidden away or kidnapped but merely being given the chance to live in a place where there were others that shared the same problems and concerns they themselves had to deal with.

But Harry Potter hadn't warmed to it.

Quite the opposite.

_Jean, from her position on the armchair of the sofa, watched the black-clad stranger sitting stiffly in the middle. Kurt perched precariously on the fireplace mantle; Rogue, Kitty, Scott, Spike, and the rest had found various places to sit or stand in the room, even Gambit. Xavier was directly in front of the sofa._

_"Welcome, Harry," he said, an open smile on his face. Harry didn't react, instead staring at a point somewhere over Xavier's shoulder. This alarmed Jean; ever since his negative reaction to being mentally 'searched', she had treaded much more carefully around his mental perimeters. Not even a slight trace of emotion, a thing that had never happened before with people. Kurt was even more closed off than one might expect, and had the strongest mental walls here besides herself and the professor, but she had never encountered a wall where nothing was leaked._

_"Harry, please, talk to me," Xavier said softly._

_The boy shifted, his eyes swiftly moving to the psychic's._

_"I can tell that you've been hurt, Harry. I can help you. Anyone here in this room would be willing to help you in any possible way they could."_

_"No one can help me," he said, repeating his first statement while moving his eyes to the floor. The harsh quietness of his tone was abnormal on what should have a cheerful, hormonal, if not unusual teenager. But he sounded so...old._

_"Why not?" Xavier pressed, though he did not push._

_Harry looked up at him through his long lashes. "Because anyone who gets too close dies."_

_Jean sucked in a breath. This child, a boy, had seen death? Why, and under what circumstances?_

_"Why would you say that?"_

_A bitter sneer twisted his red lips. "Because it's true." Holding up his right hand, he turned it so that the back of it faced the professor._

_By leaning forward slightly, Jean was able to catch a glimpse of what he was showing._

_I must not tell lies._

_It had been scarred, however faintly, into the pale flesh, the silvery whiteness nearly lost in the pale color of his skin._

_Harry quickly withdrew his hand back into its sleeve and his face regained its stoicism._

_"Who did that?"_

_No answer._

_Xavier obviously decided on a new subject, relieving Jean. Dark depression had begun to leak out from the walls for a few seconds, just enough for her to pick them up and startle her in their intensity._

_"Harry, Cerebro centered on your power, giving us your location. What is your power, exactly?"_

_Silence._

_"Harry?"_

_By now, Jean was beginning to expect the long silences as answers._

_"I'm a telepath, and a telekinetic," Jean supplied, her voice soft and gentle. "Kitty can phase through solid objects. Spike's body can produce bone spikes, hence his name. Kurt, well, you already know his." She smiled. "Storm can control the wea-"_

_"Magic."_

_Jean blinked at the interruption._

_Rogue snorted from where she leaned against the wall. "Magic?"_

_The large snake Jean had nearly forgotten about slithered out from beneath his cloak and curled gracefully on her master's narrow shoulders, flicking vindictive eyes at the goth. It hissed._

_Kitty blanched slightly; she hated reptiles, insects, arachnids, and rodents._

_"Rogue," Xavier said in reprimand. She turned away, making Jean frown. What was that girl's problem?_

_"What do you mean, magic?" Beast asked curiously in his deep voice, moving his blue gorilla-like body forward in interest._

_Silence._

_It was really annoying._

_"Can you clarify?"_

_Jean, sitting the closest to him, felt Harry getting more and more tense. His emerald eyes, flickering with some unnamed emotions, hardened. The snake shifted restlessly._

_"Magic is magic. There is no true definition."_

_His tone was sharp and biting._

_Storm decided to add her own two cents. "I know that some mutant powers may seem like magic, but it isn't. Magic-"_

_"Doesn't exist?" he asked with a smirk._

_The snake turned and slithered in true serpentine fashion down Harry's arm, across the sofa cushion, and onto the floor, stopping about three feet away._

_And changed._

_The black and green markings faded to a midnight black, the muscle rippling as the skin stretched. Bone splintered from the back, and feathered shadow wings spread wide from the forming shoulder blades. The eyes changed from snake-like intensity to canine amber, the nose lengthening and the scales being covered by thick, silver fur. The body grew from three feet long to five, expanding and growing._

_A silver-furred wolf with folded ebony wings stood calmly in front of Harry, looking almost smug at the stunned reactions of the other occupants in the room._

_"How..."started Storm._

_"Magic," Harry murmured, reaching out to stroke the wolf's fur. It leaned into the touch._

_"Then you can change the shape of animals?" Kitty asked, awed._

_"Magic doesn't exist," Rogue snapped._

_Harry stood with a startlingly feline grace, and as he moved the cloak fell back. Attached to the belt were several daggers, glinting in the firelight emanating from the grate, but then the cloak moved back and hid them once again._

_"It doesn't?" he said softly, his curious voice tinged with...something._

_Rogue opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. Her eyes widened, and her throat moved as she tried to force out sound, but got only a thin whisper of breath past her lips._

_Harry's eyes were narrowed, devoid of anything Jean could recognize. He strode past the others, the door opening before he had even come within two feet of it, and paused to let the snake-turned-winged-wolf change into a raven that fluttered gracefully to his shoulder. With the cloak billowing in response to his movements, he slipped silently out the door, not even his black boots making a sound against the light wood._

_Rogue finally spluttered, her hands grasping her throat as she turned to Xavier with huge eyes._

_"Sis, are you okay?" Kurt asked worriedly, having jumped from his place on the mantel and touching her shoulder hesitantly._

_"It felt...Jesus Christ...like I was yelling into a vacuum, or something...I couldn't make a sound..."_

_Jean stared at the door from whence Harry had left._

_"Perhaps it would be best to let him come to one of you on his own," Xavier said wearily. "As much as I hate to say it, it is obvious we have to be careful with Harry and not push too far."_

_The older redhead didn't respond, instead thinking wryly;_

_'Understatement of the year, professor.'_

Jean shook her head, returning to the present.

The coffee maker made the annoying bleeping noise indicating its task's completion, and pulled out the pot and poured herself a large cup of it. Two creams, a sugar...and life was a momentary bliss.

Sipping it contentedly, she turned away from the counter to look out the floor-to-ceiling windows to watch the sun finish its rise. Each of the windows had window seats strewn with cushions, and it was her morning custom to sit and enjoy her solitude before everyone else woke up.

But apparently, someone had already beaten her there.

She yelped and jumped backwards at the dark figure curled up in one of the window seats, upsetting and dropping her cup in the process. It smashed on the floor, sending fragments of porcelain and streams of liquid flowing across the white tiles.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," Jean gasped out, trying to will her heart to slow down and suppress the instinct to use her power to shield herself.

Harry turned to look at her with fathomless eyes, before he graced her with a small smile. It wasn't even a real smile, more of a quirk of the lips, but thus far it had been more than before, much more.

She tensed herself when he uncovered a hand from his black cloak and raised it, readying her telekinesis. But instead, the broken porcelain shards flew back together, sealing themselves without so much as a single flaw to suggest it had once been lying in millions of pieces on the floor, and it seemed to jump back up and settle itself docilely on a saucer. The pools of coffee disappeared without a trace.

To say she was astonished wouldn't have covered the half of it.

"Th-thank you, Harry," she said, reaching out with her slim fingers to touch the flawless cup tentatively.

Harry just returned to watching the view outside the window.

Regaining her composure quickly, Jean poured herself another cup and walked over to the window seat, hesitating for a fraction of a second before plowing ahead.

"May I sit here?"

She gestured at the other end of the seat, and he shrugged briefly. Smiling kindly, she seated herself and took another sip of the strong drink.

"Thank you."

He made no sign he had heard her. He sat with his back leaning against the sill and his legs drawn up to his body, his chin resting on his knees. He was still clothed in the same outfit she had first seen him in, although they were noticeably absent of any blood, dirt, or other unwanted substances.

She looked at him carefully. Up close, she could see that his smooth skin was actually lined with stress and worry and hardship, and the silvery scar on his high cheekbone, just below his eye, was more noticeable.

"What are you thinking about?" Jean inquired, quite honestly curious about what could cause such shadows in the large emerald eyes.

He looked away from the window and gazed into her face searchingly. After a moment, he said, "Thinking about what may have happened had things been different."

"What did happen?"

His expression blanked and he looked away. She could see the muscle in his jaw flexing as his teeth gritted together. Hmm, touchy subject.

She could always try.

"We can't always be sure how an event might change had we chosen differently. It might have been for the better, it might have been for the worse. It could have led to things that we rather not have happen. You can never be sure, and it's no use asking yourself 'what if'."

At that moment, the kitchen doors burst open, and Spike, Kitty, Bobby, Sarah, and Amara tumbled in laughing and talking. Harry's head whirled around to face them, and before Jean could say anything...

...Harry disappeared.

Into thin air.

Literally.

There was small pop, and he was gone. Startled, Jean nearly dropped her cup again, and she glanced sharply at the younger students to see if they had noticed the occurrence.

They were currently fighting over the stove.

Safe to say they didn't.

Jean looked back to the previously occupied place, thinking hard. Could it really be, strange as it was to think it...magic?

**The people here are honorable, but nosy**, Chatoyant observed, watching Harry sort through the objects that had been shrunken in his pockets.

"Like a house full of Gryffindors," he said dryly aloud. He wouldn't have to worry about anyone over-hearing him talking to seemingly himself as they had all gone to school. After all, it was Thursday.

**It'll be hard**, she continued as though she hadn't heard him. Not only to remain silent, but to avoid any...accidents.

"Yes, I'm all too well-aware of that. It smells-and feels-different, too."

**Duh. Voldemort obviously isn't here, or we would have known.**

Several bottles of potions clinked softly together as he dropped them on the bed.

"Where's Hedwig?"

Chatoyant didn't answer, delving into concentration. Her cat-tail waved slowly in the air.

**Not too far away, just over in the forest on the edge of the estate.**

"I just realized something," Harry said suddenly. "I won't be able to make any new potions."

His familiar's momentary shock sent waves down the psychic link.

**Well, fuck.**

Harry snorted.

"How articulate."

**Shut up, you. You were awfully open with that redhead this morning, and you showed a bit of power.**

"Not enough to be of consequence. And she-reminds me of someone."

**I already know that, stupid, I'm the familiar here. I was just making an observation.**

"Have you figured out where we are, or how we got here?"

**No. I've been doing some reconnaissance while you were dicking around in the kitchen, but I don't sense anything remotely magical or see anything possibly familiar sights. Hedwig's been lending me her eyes, but all she's found is a couple mice nests.**

"But how can that be possible?" Harry mused. "Even when we were in the muggle world, the magic was still plenty strong enough to feel."

**I don't know...**

"Liar," Harry said suddenly, examining the edge of a knife for any nicks in the blade.

**Well, it's always possible...**

"What?"

**Geez, don't get all snarly at ME, it's not my fault. But think about this, hon. There're no witches or wizards, but instead we find mutants...no Voldie and his minions, but these guys are obviously fighters of SOME kind with _some _training, at least-catch my drift?**

"Not particularly."

Chatoyant groaned, shaking her panther head resignedly. **Kansas is even farther this time, Dorothy.**

"What, we're now in Oz?" Harry smirked, chuckling at his familiar's annoyed snarl.

**Be serious, hon. I mean that we're possibly in another universe.**

Harry sent her a wave of irritated confusion.

**Remember that lecture Minerva gave the class about a year back, when Hermoine asked that question about how prophecies can contradict one another?**

Ignoring the surge of guilty rage and sorrow the name of his friend brought, Harry nodded.

**That one theory where every decision creates two timelines, and while you yourself live only one, another version of yourself lives the other?**

Harry wondered how his familiar could be smarter than he was if she was supposed to be a physical part of his soul, and what this had to do with anything.

**I'm not smarter than you stupid, I AM you. I just happened to get the good side. Anyway, think about this; what if something here happened where magic was completely obliterated?**

"But how? That's not possible," he argued.

**How do you know?**

"Because magic is the force of all living things, the alteration of a physical world through will, the manipulation of natural and self energies, the substance of soul, spirit, emotion, and will all combined. How can you destroy that?"

**All right, maybe I was wrong,** Chatoyant huffed, before pausing again. **Or maybe-the humans here no longer have the power to access that.** Excitement flooded down their link, and Harry winced, suppressing the urge to whoop and leap in the air.

"Clarify."

**Maybe mutants are nature's way of letting the magic through!**

"I guess...though that doesn't explain where we are."

The panther rolled her eyes, before becoming suddenly serious. **During the final moments, when you tried to...** Her voice broke, and she paused to recollect her thoughts. **When you tried to...off yourself, maybe the magic didn't want to lose such a powerful channel, and sent you here. To another reality.**

Irrational anger swept through him, making Chatoyant sway on her perch nauseously.

A knock on the oaken door made them stop their swiftly downward-spiraling conversation. Harry's hand automatically reached for the knife Sirius had given him, until he forced himself to relax. Chatoyant shifted back into her snake form, curling up on the pillow and closing her eyes.

"Oy, Harry, you in there?"

_Male, probably in his twenties, fairly large._

**Can we say paranoid? **

**Wasn't my choice, Cat.**

The door opened to reveal a tall man with spiky brown hair and startlingly blood red eyes, giving him the appearance of a demon. He gave a friendly lopsided grin.

"Hello there. Ah'm Gambit. Dear Xavier sent me t' give ya a tour after ya spoke with 'im." Harry could hear a note of arrogance through the friendliness of the voice.

**The old man? Again? Aw _man_!** griped Chatoyant.

Gambit's eyes fell to the bottles and assorted packages that had had the Shrinking Charm removed, and he tilted his head in curiosity.

"What're all those fer?"

Harry ignored him, instead gathering them up in his arms and depositing them in a desk drawer. Using Wandless magic, he discretely locked the drawer so that only he could open it (not that the others could anyway, since none had magic in their blood) and strode out the door, brushing past Gambit.

"It wouldn't do to keep him waiting, now would it?" Harry said smoothly, not seeing the stunned look in the taller man's eyes.

"O' course not," Gambit agreed cheerfully, quickly taking the lead down the corridor. As they walked, he pointed out various rooms and hallways, giving Harry a quick tour on their way. When they reached a set of ornately carved double doors, he grinned and gave him a wink.

**Hmm, lessee now...a bit arrogant, quite confident, probably a ladies' man. Oh, he has an accent too! Cool!**

**Quiet, Cat.**

"Xavier's in there. Ah'll be waiting out here fer ya."

Harry just gave him a brief stare before sweeping through the doors, his cloak rippling past the doorframe.

Inside the room was a fairly spacious yet cozy office, paneled in dark oak and floored with a thick, comfortable carpet. A mahogany desk standing before three floor-to-ceiling windows was directly opposite the door, as well as a couple overstuffed armchairs and a sofa pushed against the farthest wall.

Charles Xavier himself sat behind the desk, leaning his elbows on the surface with his fingertips pressed together. Harry closed the doors behind him and leaned casually against them, crossing his arms over his chest in an unconsciously defensive gesture. He knew he should be feeling irritation, or anxiety, or even anger at his predicament; but truth be told, he felt nothing. It was as though all his emotional capacities had been stolen away from him during the long night that had just passed a few hours before.

"How did you sleep, Harry?" Xavier asked, his tone calm and sounding honest.

"Like the proverbial baby," Harry returned quietly, keeping his blank mask firmly in place. A minor lie, though with the suddenly sharpened gaze Harry had a feeling that the professor didn't believe him.

Whatever.

As long as the guy didn't try to pry into his mind.

"I'm glad to hear that. Please, have a seat."

Harry did not move. Xavier sighed.

"I wanted to speak with you about your future, Mr. Potter," the older telepath continued. "Do you have any family? A place you wish to return to?"

_it seemed to take sirius an age to fall. his body curved in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch_

Harry inwardly snarled at the intimacy of the question. It had not taken long for those he'd known before to learn to stay clear of those particular subjects, and he was determined to show this crippled old man that such matters were personal.

His neutral look turned dark. Xavier looked saddened, yet unsurprised.

"Myself and rest of the X-Men would like for you to stay with us, Harry-"

"Why?" Harry was honestly curious. Who would want a paranoid, blood- soaked, broken weapon that had nearly thrown a knife at one of them to stay? Wouldn't they want him to leave, and as soon as physically possible? He noted that the professor also looked curious.

"Is there a reason that we shouldn't want you here?" he asked softly.

_Ooh, clever_, Harry mused, trying to make me answer such a question. _Well, you never know when I might go on a homicidal rampage or try to commit suicide because I'm just OH-so-depressed and angry blah blah blah...yeah right. I wasn't nearly put in Slytherin just for my being a Parselmouth._

So he opted for the silence he was becoming well-known for.

Xavier sighed. "Please, Harry, I'm just asking that you try. If you really wish to leave, then I cannot hold you here against your will, nor would it ever be my intent. This Institute was designed for all mutants, not just a select few, no matter what their power-or past."

_Oh, so now I'm a charity case_, Harry snorted to himself.

"What is the date?" he asked suddenly, succeeding in confusing Xavier.

"It is the twelfth of January," he replied slowly.

"Year?"

"Nineteen-ninety- seven."

_Holy shit._

Last time he had checked, it had been the first of January. At least he was in the same year.

**Just how long was I out!** he mindspeeched to Chatoyant. Though trying to 'off himself' as Chatoyant had put it, should have had him knocked out for a few days, being out for almost two weeks seemed a little bit much.

"Let me tell you about the X-Men," Xavier continued, changing the subject. "X-Men are mutants that use for their powers for the good of all humanity, mutant and human alike. Because of the specialty of their intent and purposes, only a few of the students here are a part of it. If you wish, you could always try and become a part of the team. All of the students are offered such chances when they reach an age of maturity appropriate to be a part of a team."

_Good for them_.

**Sounds rather like Dumbledore and the** **Order.**

"As well as that, I do expect all the students to attend schooling, whether it be here at this Institute or at the local high school, Bayville High. If you do wish to stay here for an extended period of time, then you will have to become part of the student body."

_Thrilling_.

Harry just shrugged noncommittally.

"If you'll forgive my saying, you are small enough to pass as a sophomore and be in the same classes as the others.

"That was all, Harry. But please, if ever you need someone to talk to, don't hesi-"

The phone on the desktop rang.

Taking the opportunity, Harry bowed and turned to leave. It looked as though Xavier were about to finish his statement, but the second ring of the phone interrupted him again.

"Take care, Harry," he said, picking up the receiver. Even from where he stood, Harry's heightened senses could hear the panicked voice on the other end, though the individual words were indecipherable.

Pushing open the doors, he found himself facing a Gambit that was leaning casually against the wall. The mutant stood straight and flashed him a grin, and beckoned for him to follow.

"The Institute was founded sometime in the sixties or seventies, by Xavier and another mutant that called himself Magneto," he began. Harry was more interested in trying to guess what kind of accent the guy had, and let the other's words flow by unheeded.

They walked down several corridors and staircases, and for the first Harry was starting to appreciate just how _big _this place was for a muggle structure. It did not compare to the Ministry or Hogwarts-even Grimmauld Place was bigger than this-but it was impressive all the same. Whenever they passed open doors, they more often than not turned out to be classrooms filled with mutants from preschool age through middle school age. All the high school ages went to Bayville, as well as attending their 'power control' classes. At one such classroom, Gambit stopped and whispered conspiratorially to him.

"That's Beast. Ah don' remember 'is true name, but ah know he used ta be a teacher and sports coach at Bayville before 'is transformation came on. He loved teachin', so the professor gave 'im a job here. He's a physics teacher, and brilliant when it comes ta mathematical formulas."

The great creature stood behind a table low enough for him to reach without having to stretch, dressed in a white lab coat and goggles, talking in a deep, patient voice to the quiet youths sitting in front of him.

_Lord, what fools these mortals be!_

Harry blinked. Shakespeare? Ah, yes, this guy must like the ancient playwright, judging from the famous phrase that streaked through Harry's own thoughts.

He followed Gambit as they moved on, absently wondering what the tall southerner's power was. He had managed to recognize the accent as somewhere from the southern States. He had known he was not in England anymore the first time he had heard these people speak, but to be in America...he had been there only once, on a mission to New York, but he had found that the American wizards and witches were definitely..._interesting_. For one, they dressed like muggles, not like the magic people back home. For another, they had the strangest idea of slang and language--imagine calling the boot of a car the 'trunk', when it didn't even resemble a trunk! And they were a culture that was much more casual and open-minded, for sure. He had been forced to go with Severus and Remus; the Potions Master had been absolutely livid, while Remus had been thoroughly confused and embarrassed. Harry just found it hilarious. When Remus had decided that the three of them had to go out and 'explore', they had ended up in a gay bar-Harry and Remus had been propositioned so fast both had been struck speechless. Severus had finally glared daggers at the offenders and dragged the two out there.

Instinct was the only thing that stopped him from running into his guide when he stopped abruptly, right at the enormous double doors. When had they gotten into the entrance hall?

"Ya could at least pretend ya were listenin'," Gambit teased, grinning, though his voice was laced with irritation. Harry just gave him a sideways glance.

"So, that was the manor. We're gonna go outside now, so beware."

**Beware of what, the dog?**

When they stepped outside, Harry blinked. It was cold.

Though considering the snow that enveloped the entire estate that was not too surprising.

Even out here there were classes going on. The woman Storm seemed to be trying to teach a group of about four telekinetics how to levitate small snowballs, while a mutant Harry did not recognize was showing another group something about balls of light.

"That's Ororo, alias Storm, though you probably already met her, and that teacher over there is Maelstrom, though you can call her Day." Seeing Harry's confused look, he elaborated. "Day's teaching 'em how to turn energy into blasts that can be controlled. Some of 'em use the power of the sun, or themselves, or electricity, and can turn that power into blasts kinda like big-beamed lasers, fireballs, or fireworks."

Harry blinked in astonishment, before his attention was caught by something else. Speaking to Gambit for the first time during their tour, he said quietly;

"Who are they?"

Gambit gave him a strange look, before turning to see where Harry had gestured.

By the end of the porch sat two small children, a boy and a girl that were obviously siblings. Both had dark, silky hair and innocently wide, almond eyes of a rich brown. The boy's skin was slightly more golden, the girl's more pale, though in everything else from height to build to actual appearance they were practically the same. Both sat cross-legged on a wide stump, their knees touching, and each held something in their tiny hands. The boy looked to be holding a patch of dirt, the girl held a small dove with a bloodied wing.

"Those two? Twins, they are," Gambit said, his voice softening. "Ah knew their muther well, a rathe' eccentric woman, but nicer than any critter ah've met." Harry got the feeling that at least at one point in time, the two had been more than just acquaintances. "She died in a fire, and Xavier was kin' enough to take 'em in. The little boy's Apollo, and his sis is Artemis." He smiled wryly. "Their muther was quite into symbolism; see, she knew 'bout mutants. Both're healers for any livin' thing, though Apollo specializes in plants and Artemis has her animals."

Harry's attention shifted once again when a child of about nine years came whooping past the porch, her hair tangled and her cheeks flushed. Behind her was another girl and two boys, both trying to catch her. Gambit laughed.

"That li'l hooligan is Professor Day's daughter, Stephanie, though everyone calls her Skittles."

"Why?" he asked softly, his heart aching to see such happiness and innocence.

Gambit winked. "The gal's as scatterbrained as a puppy, gets up t' a lotta pranking and always manages to disappear when it's time fer her chores. She can talk t' animals, which is a great advantage fer her fav'rite pastime."

"All right, children," Ororo said, her motherly voice carrying clearly. "That's quite enough for today. Go inside and change into some dry clothes, now."

Giggling and whispering to each other, the children scurried back indoors, followed closely by the other professor's class. Harry watched the little girl nick-named Skittles sneak up behind her mother and pounce, laughing. Ororo walked up to the two twins sitting quietly on the stump and murmured in their ears. They nodded, and to Harry's stunned surprise the dove in the little girl's hands shook itself lightly and flew off, and the dirt held by the boy had recently gained a new, green sprout, already unfurling tiny spear-point leaves.

**See, it supports my theory**, Chatoyant's voice spoke quite suddenly into Harry's thoughts. She had been half-listening the whole time as she dozed back up in the room they had been given to stay in. **Don't tell me that's not just like magic.**

**All right, I won't**, Harry thought back, sending affectionate amusement. He got the image of her sticking out her snake tongue.

"Oi, what's that bird doing?"

Harry turned around at Gambit's exclamation, and his lips quirked at the corners in a small smile.

**It seems our illustrious Hedwig has returned**, Chatoyant observed dryly. Harry ignored her, instead raising his arm and letting the snowy owl flutter lightly onto it.

His smile grew a bit when he saw the inevitable mouse dangling from her beak, a haughty expression on her feathered face.

"This is _your _bird?" Gambit asked incredulously, snorting. "If ya wanted mah opinion, ah think ya should have chosen somethin' like a hawk, or a falcon. Owls are jus' so...boring." He made a move to shoo the bird away.

Harry's hand snapped out, grabbing the other's wrist in a tight grip that made the bones creak.

The wizard glowered at him, feeling a snarl in his throat. This arrogantly friendly man had _no _concept of what he was speaking. Hedwig had been one of the few lights in a sea of heavy, suffocating darkness, and he would be damned if he let him insult her while he was around.

The little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like a certain blond Slytherin grinned maliciously.

Gambit had that smug, arrogant smile still on his face, the grin of a man confident in himself and his own abilities, one used to getting what they want, often in women, and sure of an impending fight that they would inevitably win.

He released the wrist, stroking Hedwig with one hand.

Harry suddenly looked up at the mutant, his blank mask slipping to show a cold smile curving his lips, his emerald eyes darkening visibly.

A gasp escaped the older man, and he pressed two large hands against his temples, teeth grinding together and lips grimacing. His eyes were shut tightly, and a second breath of air slipped from between his teeth.

Slowly, he dropped to his knees, a small groan wrenching itself from his throat. Harry knew it was going too far; using Occlumency, he had let part of the Cruciatus Curse through to the other's mind, just enough to make him feel a small taste of it. It may have been too extreme a reaction, but the man had insulted HIS Hedwig, his precious, precious owl. Had it been anything else-himself, his past, his clothes, whatever-it wouldn't have affected him in the slightest. But Chatoyant, Hedwig, and his parents were _off limits_.

And the rush of power, the knowledge that now, now he was not the only to suffer, that others could also feel what he did...

**Harry, stop it!** Chatoyant pleaded, her voice desperate. **Please, stop!**

He ignored her, not noticing the confused mutants beginning to gather around them.

Gambit gave a small cry.

"HARRY!"

_harry_

He felt a mental snap, and for a moment the colors and shapes around him flew in a swift whirlpool of confused light. Then he realized that it was only Chatoyant, cutting off the magic that lent power to the spell.

Harry blinked at the image of the man on his hands and knees, panting for breath. Reality suddenly smacked him in the face like the bitch it was.

Shit.

What had he done?

_you have to be careful; human minds are so easily relinquished to the dark_

_did you know there's a muggle religion devoted to two things-their God, and the resistance of temptation so that they may be saved_

_we are alike in many ways, harry potter. surely you have noticed_

"Harry."

He realized that the verbal voice had been none other than Charles Xavier.

Looking up, Harry saw that a small group hung silently a few yards away, shock and anger written alternately on their faces. Xavier wheeled himself forwards, the normally pacific expression stern.

"Scott, Kurt, take Gambit inside immediately, please."

The two mentioned did as asked, Scott glaring at Harry and Kurt just giving him a confused one.

"Harry."

Inside, Harry was shaking in horror. On the outside, he was as inscrutable as ever, his mouth taking autopilot without his permission, speaking in that tone he knew to be his defensive voice. Flat and emotionless.

"Yes, professor?"

_incompetent boy! can you not make a single potion without putting all our lives on the line?_

"Harry, what were you doing?"

He had hurt another human, after swearing that he wouldn't.

"I'm sorry..." he whispered, the broken words slipping past his lips.

"Mr. Potter-"

It had been so long since he had heard that one.

"-it is against the rules of this Institute for one mutant to use their skills malevolently against another student. To do so would result in immediate investigation and, depending on the circumstances, may result in expulsion." Xavier sighed. "Please come with me to my office, Harry."

_lemon drops, harry? They're a particular favorite of mine_

"The rest of you, please return to what you were doing." He paused, his voice turning weary. "Jean, please use your telepathy to tell Logan, Beast, and the rest of the X-Men to come as well; Scott and Kurt too, when they are done. It seems that...the White Queen is moving once again."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"All You Wanted" by Michelle Branch. :shudders:

AN: I have changed the theory about where they are, along with the date. I have my reasons for this, so don't get all, "What does _that _change!" with me… You will soon see… Mwahahahha!

R&R! PLEASE!


	4. What the Mirror Hides

_Mirror_

_I look onto the other side_

_I feel I am a lie_

_Pretending I'm all tough inside_

_When I feel I want to cry_

_I just want someone to hold onto_

_Someone to hold me back_

_I just need those arms to embrace me_

_It's just the love that I lack_

_Powdered kegs fill my heart_

_Full high-powered load_

_I've held it in_

_Way too much_

_I think I may explode_

_I am beautiful, at least_

_That's what I thought_

_I was just always insecure_

_But that is what the mirror caught_

_I can't hide away_

_From my fears_

_I must stand and fight_

_T'was the mirror who reflected me_

_But I was the one to shine the light_

--(written by my friend, Ember)

* * *

Cold dampness seeped through the stone of the ancient castle dungeons, trickling silently down the mortared stones as snakes would. The dead silence was broken only by the faint breathing of a small human curled in the corner, buried beneath the ragged remains of a robe and dignity. Emerald eyes had darkened to near blackness, standing out vividly from a face marred by streaks of blood and dirt.

The faint sounds of classical music drifted from somewhere near the end of the dark corridor, though it drew no reaction from Harry Potter. He simply lay still as a corpse, nearly as lifeless as one, and dreamed of nothing, yet everything. Inside his mind, there were no bruises or welts or wounds, no blood or screams, no pain. Only blessed darkness; a darkness with no sound, no sight, no hearing, no memory. Only relief.

He had wondered briefly why darkness had so long been considered evil if it brought such silent and painless refuge.

Pain no longer registered as an acute sensation. Instead, it seemed everything was in pain-the stupid scar he was famous for, his head, his torso, his abdomen, his legs and feet, his limbs. It was now just a blind haze, a fuzziness that hummed in the background through his spinal cord to his cerebral cortex yet didn't truly register in the rest of his brain.

Nerve damage, he mused.

Loud footsteps echoed throughout the corridor separated from his cell by a set of rusted iron bars that were enforced by magical wards and shields to prevent escape from any creature, Animagus or not. They grew ever clearer as they drew closer, yet Harry honestly could not find the will to care. So he lay, still and alone.

Hmm, sounds like Avery. Early thirties, somewhat tall and thin.

Harry had begun to recognize Deatheaters by their footsteps alone, learning that their height and weight affected the style and firmness of their steps, while age (or rather, intelligence and temperament) decided on the rhythm and pace. Lucius Malfoy had a measured, elegant stride, while Goyle, Sr., had a slow, heavily plodding step. Avery's was quicker and nearly lighter, sometimes irregular.

Wasn't like he had had anything better to do after being caught by Voldemort some time ago.

A coldness that had nothing to do with the atmosphere danced harshly against his bared pale skin, the small body tensed.

Now, only one thing could possibly frighten him, and Voldemort knew it.

His own mind.

Dementors.

"Wake up, you little bastard."

There was a harsh ringing against the bars, making Harry's head pound; Avery had thumped a delicate knife against them, his face twisted into an amused, smug expression.

Harry paid him no heed, instead having his attention drawn to the tall, silent shadow beside the man.

Screaming raged within his mind.

_what did you come after me for, then? i thought you were here to avenge my dear cousin_

_i am!_

_aw...did you love him, little baby potter?_

_crucio!_

_never used an unforgivable curse before, have you, boy? you need to mean them, potter! you need to really want to cause pain-to enjoy it- righteous anger won't hurt me for long-i'll show you how it is done, shall i?_

Harry barely registered the sound of the cell door creaking open, announcing the entrance of Avery. As the fighting in his head didn't get any worse, Harry had to assume, dimly, that the Dementor had stayed outside the door.

_he was not ready to see their expression when he told them he must be either murderer or victim, there was no other way..._

"Come on, boy, move."

The softly spoken words barely broke through the rush of memories, but they were wasted. Even if he could move, he would not have.

Strange. Avery sounded...satisfied about something.

There was a murmured spell, and Harry found himself thrown upright against the wall, the manacles clinking loudly as they dug into his wrists and his head now throbbing worse than usual from the hearty thump it had received against the stone. He could feel the currents of magic pinning him steadfastly to the wall.

Harry's thin body arched slightly, his cracked lips parting in a silent cry, as a new remembrance struck with the force of an oncoming train.

_too late, potter_

_a shrieked curse, and a green light he knew must have come straight from hell; there was a soft intake of breath, a whispered name across dry lips, a heavy thud of flesh against wood_

_no, remus_

_not you too, you're a part of my family_

_remus_

"I wonder what the Boy-Who-Lived is seeing?" a voice purred from somewhere in front of him. Warm breath fanned across his face, and Harry resisted the urge to retch through the heavy blackness that tried desperately to unsurp his consciousness.

"Do you know what the Dark Lord granted to me, boy?" the unsettling voice continued. Harry breathed harshly, feeling as though his breath were being stolen from his lungs as a thief would to precious gold, his eyes half-open to reveal the Deatheater's smirking face.

"He granted me permission. You see, he is not at all satisfied that you haven't broken yet, despite the three weeks of constant...attention," he finished delicately. "So, he will allow me to do what I think should have been long ago. Though seeing you suffer is quite an enjoyment, so the time wasn't completely wasted." The last part sounded like an afterthought, though Harry had heard so many similar things that he longer felt the stirrings of rage at the comments as he did when he first was captured.

Three weeks' time?

Felt like an eternity.

When a warm hand trailed lightly down his left cheek, Harry tensed like a bowstring.

"You are quite beautiful, boy, did you know?"

_Oh God, not that..._

"When you were first dragged in here, your face flushed in rage, your eyes shining with defiance, you were quite a sight to behold. Such soft, dark hair, such creamy skin...had you been a woman, you wouldn't have been left alone for nearly as long as you have."

For the first time in a long while, true fear began to mercilessly squeeze his heart. He could not say he was really surprised; he had been forced to watch many torture sessions of captured prisoners, Muggle and magical alike.

He had to admit that Voldemort and his Deatheaters could certainly be creative when properly motivated.

"Even as you are now, you hold a certain..._forbidden_ quality that is quite intriguing."

Harry tried to move, to do anything but just stay here, pinned helpless, but the magic currents increased the more he struggled. Avery smiled wider, shaking his head in mock sternness.

"Naughty boy; don't you know that you are not supposed to disobey what your betters say?"

Gathering as much strength as he could, Harry spat in Avery's face. The smile disappeared, mouth curling into a sneer and eyes narrowing furiously. There was the hiss of steel sliding against material, and the point of a knife was being pressed against his protruding collarbone. The resulting pain was hardly registered, instead blending with the rest of the dull background roar and merely adding to the cacophony of voices screaming in the confines of his mind.

"Do you like pain, boy? Do you like the mad pulsing of your heart, the rush of adrenaline, the loss of control?"

The knife slowly slid downwards, following his sternum, the cotton threads of the rags he was wearing parting with a soft whisper that jarred harshly with the burning trail left behind.

Harry's eyes closed in an attempt to block out what was being done. He knew very well what was going to happen; had known for a while, in fact, that it was only a matter of time until Voldemort grew tired of his silence and resistance and allowed his Deatheaters to do what they would.

But that did not stop the feeling of terrified fear and shrieking rage slowly consuming his heart until it grew hard to breathe.

"What's the matter, child? Not having fun? I am. I think red suits your body quite well. Hmm, who would have thought that blood could taste like wine?"

The sensual feeling of warm, slick tongue sliding over the wound the knife had left behind made his skin crawl in absolute disgust and revulsion.

"You've never been touched, have you? How sweetly innocent. Let me hear you scream as I take you, make you mine forever."

The knife disappeared, to be replaced by fingers that knew no gentleness or love. Only possessive lust and sadistic pleasure could they ever show.

Panic seemed to loosen his previously stuck vocal cords.

"No..." Harry murmured, his protest faint and breathy, his skinny body struggling ever more strongly. This could not be happening, it was wrong, all wrong...it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

_do you know why it hurts, harry? because you feel. you feel love, and compassion, and courage. that's why it hurts, harry, and that's why i can break you_

The situation combined with the powerful magic of the Dementor made his mind dance precariously close to the edge, teeter dangerously on the precipice over an unknown darkness.

Harry did not know when he was reduced to begging, pleading for it to stop. He didn't know when his voice broke into a long scream of sheer primal terror as he was penetrated, didn't know when he finally cracked, crumpling into a small ball when he was released from the cruel intruder of his body and the magic that had held him.

He knew only of when he finally fell, his world a writhing mass of living darkness.

Faint strains of classical music echoed in the silence.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Xavier started. Someone had just been broadcasting fairly powerfully, though obviously accidentally.

He glanced out the window from his bed, thinking.

It had been a memory; a rather disturbing one, at that.

It had been Harry's memory.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"STOP IT!"

Harry bolted upright, his eyes wide in terror. His slender body was shivering violently, his breathing shallow and rapid.

There was a cool wetness trailing down his left cheek.

"Jesus Christ," he murmured, leaning forward and squeezing his eyes shut. "Get a grip, Potter, just a dream."

**Harry?** a sleepy voice murmured.

**I'm fine, Chatoyant**, he replied mentally, snapping shut their link.

It had been so long since he had had a nightmare like that.

Then again, it was also the first night in a long time he had not taken any Dreamless Sleep potion- the supply he had had was left back where his destroyed dorm used to be. At least he had had the foresight to put wards and a Silencing Charm all around the room before he went to sleep.

Whenever he had had a vision, Chatoyant had also been forced to dream it, which helped greatly in recalling them to tell Dumbledore. But normal nightmares and dreams were his own, and while his familiar could buffer the effects of most, there were some that were just too powerful.

The seventeen-year-old glanced out the window at the moon, just beginning to wane.

He had thought that memory gone.

Shuddering, Harry wrapped his arms desolately around his legs, drawing them up to his chest. The sheet slipped from his upper body, revealing his bare torso.

The moonlight poured carelessly into the room, falling upon his pale skin. Old scars crisscrossed nearly every inch of the lean frame, testament to the hardships he had faced during his life that had gotten only worse. Some were thin and silvery, others darker, thicker, and deeper, but each and every one of them held a story, a history of rough beginnings and harsh endings.

Knowing that he would not get any sleep for the rest of the duration of the night, Harry slipped out of bed and swiftly dressed in a large, black silk shirt he Transfigured from a lost penny he'd found in a drawer, and a pair of clean blue jeans before leaving the room as silently as any shadow.

Old phantom pains delicately caressed his body like a malicious lover, his imagination creating them from the wealth of emotion and memory hidden behind a wall that would make Fort Knox envious. As he moved down the corridor, he unconsciously shrouded himself in shadow, the dark shades denying the laws of physics and moving at the wizard's automatic instinct of concealment. The plush carpet hid any sound he might have made.

As much as he tried not to, Harry's mind kept dragging itself back to his nightmare. Never before had he been so glad that Snape (after much threatening and cajoling from Dumbledore) had taught him 'the art of deception', or at least some of it. While Voldemort had probably seen right through his act the day...after... none of the Deatheaters had.

It was actually rather disconcerting how similar in both role and personality Xavier and Dumbledore were. The superficial means- both headmasters, of sorts, both ran schools, both had created a secret organization utilizing the talents of their students and allies, both fought against people whose ideas weren't exactly the best. The conversation in the professor's office had shown as much.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Harry, please tell me what happened."

Kurt shifted on his perch on the back of the armchair Rogue was sitting in, feeling slightly disconcerted by the stern tone of Professor Xavier's voice. The newest enigma stood in front of the desk, his face turned downwards and to the side in silence.

"Harry, please. I may have to place you under expulsion unless you can prove that your attack was provoked."

The German mutant watched as the boy's shoulders tensed. He had seen some pretty bad cases of paranoia, depression, and temper- after all, he _had _once been part of a circus- but none had been quite this bad.

The face turned upwards to look at the powerful psychic beneath long strands of hair that fell across his features. "He insulted Hedwig."

Ah. Hedwig must be that beautiful snowy owl, Kurt mused, his tail swishing back and forth behind him as he absently played with Rogue's hair. This guy must have lost a lot of things if he's so protective of her.

Kurt was no stranger to such feelings. The news of being experimented on as a child and being abandoned by his own mother, then being raised in a circus as a freak sideshow called "The Great Nightcrawler", hadn't done much for his personal esteem.

Making people run in fear whenever they saw him didn't help much either.

When he had been adopted by the older couple and given a place to truly call home, he had acted as though it was going to be torn away from him. After all, everything else had been. He hid himself away in the attic spaces, afraid of the villagers and their own fear. He was distant, trying not to get attached.

And then he had been given a cross by his adopted mother.

She had told him that as long as he held faith, God would help him. But he was a monster, a demon, why would such a God want to help him? Because it was the soul that mattered, not the body the soul lived within.

The cross had been a beautiful little thing, the crossbars made of fine silver with all four arms decorated by a Celtic knot that twisted itself sinuously around. A single small, golden crystal sat in the intersection of the two bars, round and sparkling and perfect. To match your eyes, she said.

The cross had been more than a simple symbol of his beliefs; it was a precious keepsake of his only mother and father, a promise of a life free of persecution and hatred.

But their town was tiny, full of people that held no power in the modern world but in the darkness and evil of night, the power superstition could hold over a person. To them, werewolves were always in the woods, ready to rend apart any who dared enter; vampires stalked the unwary; ghosts plagued the lone and sinful; witches were considered the Devil's apprentices, seductive temptresses that would turn any pious man away from salvation.

And then a demon hunter had arrived in town, and destroyed nearly everything Kurt Vaugner had finally achieved.

The cross had been lost in the chaos.

He still felt its strange, unnatural absence and the sharp sting of betrayal.

What had Harry lost?

Xavier's voice continued.

"Be that as it may be, Harry, you deliberately hurt another person."

"If that were the case, Xavier, then he would have been dead."

Absolute silence rang in Kurt's ears. None of the other mutants moved.

Xavier sighed, looking as old as Kurt had ever seen him.

Harry turned to the side and moved his cloak so that, for the first time, it showed his front. In the belt he was wearing were several small loops attached, in which small bottles nestled firmly. Clinking softly, he withdrew one and twirled between his fingers, letting the cloak fall back to its original position.

"This a Calming potion," he said softly. "What he suffered was a small part of the Cruciatus Curse; had he been forced to feel the full brunt of it, he would have been driven insane within three and a half minutes. It is a purely mental curse that makes the recipient feel intense agony. He will be fine, but should there be any side effects this will take care of it."

He set the bottle gently on the middle of the professor's desk. That had been the longest speech any had heard him say since meeting him only the day before.

"How do we know that's not poison?" Scott demanded, tactless as usual. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Had I intended to kill him, then he would have already been dead."

Logan growled.

"What, so you have killed before?" Scott retorted.

Kurt watched as Harry's eyes widened, his body tensing as though expecting a blow. He seemed at a loss for words, the emerald of his eyes glazing over as he stared at something only he could see.

"I lost control," he murmured. "I am no better than he is."

"Than who, Harry?" Xavier asked gently, his voice concerned. Kurt, meanwhile, was confused. Could he mean Magneto? It was possible, though he could have sworn that he had seen the mutant die.

Xavier's words seemed to bring Harry back to the here-and-now, and the stunned misery of his expression suddenly dissolved into black neutrality. When he spoke his tone was clipped and betrayed nothing.

"This will take away any symptoms remaining." He gestured towards the lone little glass vial sitting innocently on the desktop. Then, turning on his heel, he strode from the room.

Was it Kurt's imagination, or did his steps seem a bit more hurried than before?

"Well," said Beast, blinking. "This produces quite a quandary."

"He is obviously emotionally unstable," Ororo supplied. "While this situation may have been nothing more than an accidental loss of control, it also proves that he is unpredictable. We know nothing of him except that he is highly trained and potentially very dangerous, judging from what he have seen thus far. We do not even know the full extent of his power, or even what that power is."

"If I may," Jean broke in quietly. "I saw him this morning. He was up even before me. When I dropped a coffee cup, he just waved his hand, and it...put itself back together, without a single crack showing that it had been broken. The spilled coffee just disappeared. I tried talking to him, but he seemed so...sad, and lonely. He said he was wondering what things might have been like had he acted differently, but he didn't go into detail. Then when some of the younger mutants came in, he just- disappeared."

"Disappeared?" Rogue repeated, her brow furrowed.

"Yeah, it was like when Kurt teleports, but there wasn't any smoke, just a small popping sound. He was there, then he...wasn't."

Kurt suppressed a smile; it wasn't often that Jean had such trouble articulating herself.

"I mean, if you had blinked, you would have missed it."

"How strange," Xavier mused, obviously deep in thought.

"Do you think it's possible that it might actually be...magic?" Jean asked timidly. Kurt got the impression that she was slightly embarrassed just to be voicing that thought, though he himself was starting to wonder the same thing.

"And that snake, it changed, but he didn't do it," Kurt added. "It changed on its own. That seemed like magic, if anything."

He received several strange looks.

"How do you know it wasn't him, but the snake thing?" Scott asked. Kurt blinked. Hadn't they felt it too?

"I didn't get the impression from him," he said slowly, feeling as though he had said something he wasn't supposed to. "Didn't you feel it too?"

"Feel what?"

Apparently, they hadn't.

Great…

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"I want to go home."

Harry stopped, his internal musings wrenched away at the sound of the small, pitiful voice whimpering. He stepped forward lightly, the shadows hugging him more closely than ever in his wish to remain unseen.

Through a doorway just before the kitchens (when had he gotten down the stairs? Constant vigilance, goddammit!), there was a soft light spilling from the entrance, unusual in the fact that all other doors and entrances were dark and occupied only by sleeping inhabitants or tiny mice. He recognized the door immediately as the back way into the large living/play room, where all the games, toys, and other various distractions from daily life were kept. It should have been empty of any living being.

With a touch of the unbearable curiousness he had retained from childhood or lack thereof Harry slipped inside.

The pastel blue walls were covered in posters of music bands, theme parks, favorite entertainers, and some of the children's cartoons; there were a couple sofas and futons, some armchairs, and numerous pillows of all colors and size thrown haphazardly around. There was a large television with some video games Harry didn't recognize, and a foozball and air hockey tables on the right side of the room.

This took all the time of a swift intake of breath.

But the sorrowful whimpering and crying came from the two figures huddled on a plushy scarlet armchair near the corner, the only light in the room emanating from an elaborate and rather beautiful lamp created from a piece of wood that looked as though its dark body had been forged by the hands of the ocean. The two children were curled around each other in a manner reminiscent of newborn puppies, their tiny frames shaking with their quiet cries.

Harry recognized them immediately as the two orphaned twins, Apollo and Artemis. Despite himself, the broken, disillusioned boy could feel the rigid protection around his heart loosen in acknowledgement of one of his few weaknesses sitting right before him, obviously in pain.

He wanted to comfort them, to make sure that their pain was no more than a night terror, but he was unsure. Unconsciously, and with brief surprise, he found that his feet had already brought him over and made him kneel in front of the armchair.

"What's wrong?" he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. His tones were low and soft, nearly purring in the back of his throat.

The boy-Apollo-started, looking up at him with wide, startled eyes shining wetly, as small precious stones of tears fell silently. His twin had her head buried in his chest, and she hadn't deigned to look up through the fall of dark hair that hid her face.

"Dreams," he whispered, his voice faintly accented by a flip to the R's Harry didn't recognize.

"About what?" Harry asked softly, thinking back to his own previous dream.

Artemis looked up finally, her ice blue eyes more haunted than Harry had ever seen in a child of this age.

"When Mommy died," she whispered, shaking.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to say.

"She died a coupl'a months ago," Apollo continued, his words slightly shaky. English must not have been his mother tongue. "Some bad men came, and they..." he trailed off.

"They hur' her real bad, hitt'n her an' stuff, so that she was crying," Artemis finished. "They sai' that mutants didden deserve ta live, but she wasn' a mutant!" she finished desperately, her eyes searching his for any understanding. "They tried ta burn the house down, but Mommy grabbed us and threw us outta window."

Apollo agreed solemnly, his tears rushing down afresh.

Harry had to force himself to resist his reflexes when Artemis suddenly untangled herself from her brother and flung herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck in a child's hug. Hesitantly, Harry returned the embrace.

Apollo scooted onto the arm of the chair, gesturing for Harry to sit. Awkwardly, Harry shifted Artemis so that he wouldn't drop her as he stood up, and let himself sink into the cushion.

Abruptly, Apollo settled himself in Harry's lap, behaving in a manner similar to guinea pigs as he tried to burrow beneath the older boy's arm.

_Well_, Harry mused at the situation. I_ must admit, this wasn't exactly how I thought the rest of the night was going to turn out._ It had been a long time since he had been embraced as a source of comfort or love, and he found, to his surprise, that he had missed it.

Finally, Artemis released him and settled into his other side, her tiny hands playing with the long strands of ebony hair Harry had forgotten to tie back.

"I miss her," Apollo said quietly. Harry felt a sear of empathy in his heart.

"My mum died too," he said, hiding his amusement as they both looked at him in disbelief.

"When I was a little baby, I lived with my mum and dad. But at the same time, there was an evil man that was hurting and killing people."

_there was a blinding flash of green light_

"I heard Kitty say that you do magic," Artemis interrupted. "Are you a witch?"

"No. Boys are called wizards," he said with a small smile. "Girls are witches. And this man, he was a wizard too, only he used his powers for bad things. One day on Halloween, he came to my house to kill my family. My dad told my mum to run and protect me, so she did. The evil man killed my dad, and then went after my mum and me. She sacrificed herself to save my life, and because of that, I managed to survive."

_lily, take harry and run! i'll hold him off_

"How?" Apollo asked, eyes wide with enthralled awe.

"It's an ancient magic that my mum used, and because of it I lived. The only memories I have of them are of the night they died."

Harry found himself nearly being throttled to death by an armful of sobbing little girl.

"You're an orphan too?"

"Yes, I am." Harry felt the familiar sense of loss and pain that came whenever he talked about his parents, and what could have been had things only been different.

Artemis pulled away for the second time. "Can you show us some magic?"

Harry let his senses stretch outwards, searching for any forms of other life. Only a couple mice beneath the cabinet and a moth fluttering near the windowsill. He shifted so that he was more comfortable, and his arms encircled the two tiny children.

Only these two would bear witness.

Cupping his hands in front of them, he stared at the center of space contained in the bowl-shaped confines of his fingers and palms. As he did so, his sleeves were pushed back to the middle of his forearms though the two attentive twins didn't notice, an oversight Harry was silently grateful for.

He willed his magic into the open space, nudging the small ball of power that thrummed beneath tight cords of will and control that most magic- wielding beings were unaware of. Had it been a real creature, it would have been grumbling at being roused when it didn't feel like it, but it complied after realizing what its master and creator wished it to do. A thin trickle of pure magic spilled out like a tiny mountain spring from a never-ending source, dancing as the spring would do over rocks through his veins and into his fingertips.

The lamp flickered out to leave behind a darkness in response to the magic that tugged its electrical cord.

In the material world, the small, dark space seemed to be dotted with tiny flecks of light, like salt on black pepper. The flecks grew to spots, then stars, some of the stars growing even more to form small galaxies and nebulae, spinning solar systems and streaks of flashing comets and asteroids.

Artemis and Apollo gasped with delight, their previous concerns momentarily forgotten.

One of the galaxies began to grow, quickly overtaking and blocking out the rest of the tiny universe, revealing itself to be a spiral galaxy that spun with a speed of one turn every several thousand millennia. One of its arms became the center focus, and finally a single solar system.

"The Milky Way!" Apollo gasped out breathlessly, gazing at the streak of stars.

The nine planets of the solar system were spinning slowly in their paths around the sun, glittering in the sun- and star-light like crystals spun on the end of a chain. The third planet, a tiny blue marble of sapphire, eventually became the size of the sun, then the size of a galaxy, until it hung suspended on unseen strings in the space of Harry's hands.

Finally on one continent there was a tiny sparkle, growing in size, making the northern reaches of the Atlantic Ocean swell and the wide expanse of forest on the continent loom ever larger; and the sparkle became a tree, proud in its ancient age and wide in its girth, the emerald leaves shining with the morning dew, each tiny drop of water reflecting thousands of minute rainbows, beautiful in all their small glory; then the blue of one such spectrum expanded, giving one the sensation of plunging into clear, untouched waters; a silver little fish flickered by, its dark eyes fathomless and knowing with the lore of the universe; but then it was gone in a flash, caught by the lethal spear of a bird's beak, and the bird gave a squawk that was not heard but felt in each of their minds.

The blackness of his plumage became the darkness in a forest, broken by the tall, regal trunks of trees that had known and lived all the Ages that Man only dreamed of, and through that darkness came a form that ran swiftly over the leaf-strewn ground, the claws digging deep into the earth's hide and its thick fur rippling in an unfelt wind; the wolf's eyes were deep, deep amber, wild and fierce, as it pursued a deer that leapt as though it could break away from the ground it was attached to and disappear into the endless sky, to become another star amongst millions; but then the wolf was on the ground, its body writhing in agony; the fur retracted into pale, scarred flesh, the claws becoming human nails and the teeth nothing more than what the human watchers had. The thin human chest gasped for breath as he lay motionless, not responding to the shaggy black dog that nudged at him in concern, the Man's eyes as bright and amber as the wolf's, but more thoughtful, deeper in a way that it wasn't before.

The amber iris grew dark, consuming the space, and gradually darkened; a barren land lay wasted beneath an unforgiving sky, hard and merciless and angry, the earth flayed bare and exposed like a corpse from a butcher's hand. A skeleton, the bones long since bleached white, stared up at the sneering sun and grinned in mockery even as it sank below the surface it had lain on for unknown time; where it had disappeared, the ground was slightly sunk in a gentle curve; and the sun disappeared to be replaced by its sister, who smiled her mysterious smile on the cold, lifeless area and let her moonbeams spill over until silvery grass grew, and life began to replace where once only Death had ruled.

The stars in the sky once again appeared, and the human watchers were pulled away from the life-blossoming landscape, flying past the countless stars and nebulae, past a bright flash as a star finally burned itself out and exploded, while a few endless seconds later a new one was created, and finally there was nothing left, and the magic disappeared.

All the while, a soft tuneless, wordless melody sang in the back of their minds, singing of Light and Dark, Trust and Deceit, Peace and War, but it too finally faded away, leaving behind a feeling of loss and sadness.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Kurt, give it back!"

"Aw, come on Kitty, you can do better than that."

Rogue silently laughed at the antics of her brother and the valley-girl, disguising her smile as a yawn and jumping slightly when Jean put a hand on her shoulder.

"Jumpy, aren't we?" she smiled, her voice kind. Rogue didn't answer as they both walked in the direction of the kitchen to grab breakfast.

"TGIF, right Rogue?" Spike grinned, bounding past them in his hurry not to be late. Because of his rather poor grades, his math teacher had decided to give him a few private tutoring sessions each Friday an hour before school started.

Rogue agreed, a small smile on her face. She paused as she and Jean passed the door next to the kitchen's.

"Hey Jean, was anyone in there last night?" she asked, breaking away from the redhead and moving towards the entrance. Jean shook her head.

"No, no one's used this room for months, as far as I know."

The early morning light poured in through the tall windows, giving the room passable light to see by. Rogue stopped, leaning and whispering to the telepath while pointing.

"Who's that?"

"I don't know, I'll check." Jean put her fingers to her temple, closing her eyes in concentration, before gasping.

"It's Harry! And... the twins? What are they doing in here?"

Rogue crept across the room to the armchair situated in the corner, the one most often used by those who only wanted to read or just think, but still be in the company of others.

The cold, ruthless newcomer had one leg flung over the arm of the chair, his left arm wrapped around the girl Artemis presumably to keep her from falling off. She and her twin were curled around each other on his lap, their little chests rising with each slow, contented breath.

Rogue blinked to make sure she wasn't still asleep. Harry looked...normal. Calm.

Relaxed.

Jean, Kurt, and Kitty appeared beside her, and judging from their expressions were just as surprised as she was.

One green eye half-opened lazily and looked at them, though his breathing did not alter and his body had not even shifted. The other opened, and he raised an eyebrow as though to say 'Got a problem? No? Then leave quickly and quietly, and maybe I won't sever your tongue from your head.'

It was actually quite amazing that he managed to make such a simple gesture so eloquent.

They did not know that he'd had private lessons from the snarky, son-of-a- bitch Master himself.

"Sorry," Jean whispered. Kurt grabbed a shoulder from the two older girls and wrapped his tail around Kitty, and then teleported away to leave them in peace.

Now in the kitchen, they each regarded the others in bafflement.

"He has _got _to be the most contradictory guy that ever existed," Rogue muttered.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Xavier smiled at the rising sun spreading its fatherly arms over the earth.

After feeling a combined rush of confused surprise from his students, he had inconspicuously pried to make sure that everything was all right.

It was.

"Harry Potter, welcome to your new home, for as long as you wish it to be."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Long, pale fingers pressed together lightly.

"The senator will be hard to convince," a voice that lilting and soft, but colder than a shard of broken glass, spoke aloud in a heavy silence. "But with the proper...persuasion, he will acquiesce to our means."

The smile of the ruby lips would make a fallen angel cringe.

* * *

Don't forget!

R&R!


	5. Side Effects of Insanity

Ah, someone mentioned that Sirius' knife had been destroyed; well, go back to the first chapter of this fic near the end, where it's a bunch of rambling, confused thoughts. You'll see the phrase _"...it was a blade, the blade gifted to him an eternity ago by the dead, that had been itself destroyed and then reincarnated..._blah blah blah". The 'dead' refers to Sirius, and the 'blade' is, quite obviously, the knife. In other words, it had been remade, at the most having a similar blade attached to the original hilt. I would think that because Rowling was a bitch and killed Sirius off, Harry would have refused to give up the knife's remains, and it makes sense to put a good weapon to use and reincarnate it, ne?

If you're looking for a good angsty romance of the Harry/Draco kind (we're talking heavy angst here), then check out "Moon Kissed" by Enada. It's a bit draining emotionally, for me, but absolutely beautifully written and I was nearly crying after a few chapters.

* * *

"_Sometimes to realize you were well, someone must come along and hurt you."_

_--_Perry Farrell

* * *

Xavier sighed, rubbing his temples tiredly. He was seated at the window as he so often was during the day, watching the children in his care play without a single regard to the coming trouble.

'I hope they'll be able to survive this,' he thought wearily, watching the boy known as Ice Man use his power to trip up another soccer player. His gaze shifted to the silent, dark form sitting alone in the upper stronghold of a tree, the limbs seeming to curve inward in a protective embrace.

He knew that Harry Potter had not been sleeping. The mind was most vulnerable in sleep, and during the night Xavier would receive flashes of dreams and memories, barely long enough for him to understand what was going on before the boy's natural defenses kicked in, but sufficient to give him a few vague ideas on what, exactly, was going through his head when those green eyes glazed over and focused on something only he could see.

The reason he had allowed Harry to stay, even after letting his control slip, was because the black-haired young man was not a brutal creature by nature, as Apollo and Artemis had so fortuitously proven.

He had merely lost all his innocence to the worst of humanity.

Harry was only seventeen years old, but the 'flavor' of his mind told a much older story.

And on top of that, the White Queen was once again on the prowl.

The thought of his former student aggrieved the older professor.

The White Queen was a beautiful but inhumanly cold woman, sharp as broken glass and quicker and tougher than a snarling beast. She was cunning, straightforward, possessed enough psychic power to be very...'persuasive' when she wanted to be; and she knew exactly what she wanted.

Sometimes, that could prove to be the most dangerous weapon of all.

Her cruelty was matched only by the Black Queen.

The couple were sworn enemies, rivals to the bitter end that nonetheless understood each other better than anyone else possibly could. Two women more dangerous in their seductive, predatory looks and maliciously amused expressions than any hostile army, two tigresses that desired only power and would fight tooth and vicious claw over territory and assets, but would instantly unite, albeit briefly, should anyone prove foolish enough to threaten their death grip on the political world.

Power and intimidation and subterfuge were the only currency they dealt in, the only language they understood, the only world they knew.

Even if that power was won with the blood-soaked money of a war between mutant and human.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Friday was a rather boring, anticlimactic day. Because the majority of the mutants were either at school or away on some kind of mission, Harry spent most of the day familiarizing himself with the layout of the enormous Institute and conversing with Chatoyant, wrapped around his shoulder like a living feather boa. He avoided the other mutants and the professor like they had the plague, not feeling like "socializing" today.

It was apparent that Xavier had decided not to make him leave after his little incident. What changed the man's mind, Harry had no clue whatsoever, and while part of him decided to follow the "don't look a gift horse in the mouth" saying, the Slytherin side that had always been there, more prominent in the last year or two, was going nuts trying to figure out Xavier's motives. Although Gambit was, to say lightly, highly pissed, at least nothing permanent had occurred.

Perhaps Xavier had a use for Harry to be another pawn in some grand scheme?

No, there was no reason, as there wasn't a _need _for a grand scheme. No war, no revenge-ridden enemies, etc.

Maybe he wanted to find out the extent of his power and use it for his own needs?

Wrong again, his Gryffindor side argued. The professor seemed far less manipulative than Dumbledore and much more open about what was going on. Besides, he just didn't seem the type. Slytherins are SO paranoid.

Yeah, well, Gryffindorks are stupid.

Stupid snake-faced Slytherins.

**Quit it, hon**, Chatoyant interrupted. **You have _way _too many voices in your head. It's getting crowded in here, and listening to you bicker with yourself gives me a headache.**

**A negative side effect of insanity**, Harry retorted in amusement.

**So _not _funny, Harry.**

Friday evening was also spent in solitude, at least for him. During dinner, he resisted all attempts at conversation with stony silence, instead deigning to just listen in to the conversations being held around him. He learned that Kitty loved Drama class, but hated Geometry, and wasn't sure what to wear to the dance next Friday; Kurt wasn't sure what was up with Amanda and himself; Jean and Scott were discussing their college classes accompanied by looks that even Harry could tell were flirtatious; Spike and some of the younger mutants were arguing over skateboarding statistics and whether or not some American pro-skater named Tony Hawk was any good; Jubilee, Bobby, and Sarah, with Jamie eavesdropping not-so-discretely, were whispering about what kind of prank they might be able to get away with. At one point, everything was interrupted when hordes of rodents flooded over the table, and immediately the young mutant Skittles was caught hiding beneath it bribing the poor things, and was dragged kicking and screaming by her mother to their joint room.

Saturday, if possible, was even slower moving and unexciting. He passed the day exploring the small wood that stood as a barrier on the northern side of the grounds, accompanied only by his familiar seeking out small animals along the trails and his beloved owl flying low ahead of him, soaring with the natural grace of a predator amongst the lower branched that drooped towards the leaf-covered floor. It was easy to see where all the children's hiding places were, especially to his trained eye; they left snapped twigs and twisted foliage in their wake, more often than not leading to some hidden little hole or an arboreal fort of branches.

Sleep was as elusive as smoke through fingers to the wearied youth. Nightmares of the "Last Battle" that had happened just over two weeks ago, plagued his dreams with the persistence of a bloodhound on the scent. He often woke up either screaming himself hoarse or shaking like a leaf in the face of a gale, and inevitably the dark shadows beneath his eyes darkened and he was as twitchy and high-strung as ever. After nearly slaughtering Scott, who had snuck up behind him while he was deep in thought and placed a hand on his shoulder, the rest of the mansion's inhabitants had gained the habit of walking loudly around him - or just avoided him altogether. The only ones not afraid of him were the tiny twins and a few of the other younger children, and he found that even when he did not talk (which was usually the case) they seemed to understand him with the kind of perceptive patience and knowledge only a child could possibly possess.

When Sunday came around, the twenty-third of January, Harry was perched in what had become his normal morning haunt during sunrise; the windowsill he had sat in when Jean had approached him. Then, when the others appeared, he would Apparate into his room for some daily katas and exercises, providing a mind-numbing routine that kept his reflexes up to par and gave him time to think, and would then get breakfast about an hour or two later when everyone had left. By some miracle of an unknown deity, people seemed to pretty much leave the playroom alone, used only by the children that were trying to escape chores of their elders, and thus he often spent time in there, drawing and writing whatever came into his mind or reading a book he happened to find lying around. If Apollo and Artemis were around (you rarely saw one without the other) then he would read softly to them or play quiet games. It was discovered that while Apollo had a more logical tendency to his thoughts, and thus was incredibly fast at learning chess, Artemis had a more abstract, emotional way of things, and Pictionary quickly became her favorite.

The performance he had shown them was never repeated, and it was never asked.

Besides, he had let the vision of Remus and Sirius slip through as he began to be swept away by the pure 'magick' coursing through his veins, feeling so natural, so divinely right, a fulfillment of his true nature; yet another loss of control.

But turning our attention back to the midmorning on an unusually warm Sunday in January, Harry had hidden himself away in one of the sprawling maple trees in the front lawn, a thin black-bound book spread on his lap and a slender pencil poised delicately in his graceful hands and his long legs stretched out in front of him. Chatoyant lounged lazily across his shins in the form of a black cat, much to his amusement, taking advantage of the first sight of sun seen in days. A little ways away, a game of Mutant Soccer was in progress despite the snowy ground cover, and the wizard had to admit it was quite intriguing to watch.

Bobby, covered in head to toe with ice, would freeze the closest opponent and slip by, to which a teammate would melt the ice with a blast of energy. Then Sarah would change into a wolf and snap at his feet, tripping him up, and a telekinetic would levitate the ball towards the opposite goal, to which Jubilee celebrated with a mad victory dance and several bursts of fireworks.

**They should learn Quidditch**, Chatoyant muttered with a yawn of her catty mouth, startling Harry slightly.

**The lack of any broomsticks may pose a slight problem in that area,** he sent back dryly, turning back to the notebook and guiding the pencil in graceful lines across the page. She pouted, too comfortable to glare at him.

**It was just an observation, 'dear',** she drawled in a familiar tone.

_red is so not your color, potter_

_stuff it, ferret-face_

He ignored her, his heart aching.

"_Gutentach_, Harry," said a slightly breathless German voice from the branch below him. Harry looked down to see Kurt's grinning, slightly flustered face. "I don't mean to intrude, but if you want to escape the torture, then I suggest you run. Very fast."

He teleported away.

Harry blinked, relaxing his hold on the knife sheathed sideways on the back of his belt where no one could see it, still unused to the sudden appearances and disappearances made by the furry elf.

**What was that all about?** came Chatoyant's worry-tinged voice.

"Hey Harry!" a female voice called out in the direction of the mansion. He turned, slightly irritated and apprehensive, as Kitty bounded towards the tree, her right hand firmly grasping a protesting furry elf's prehensile tail. "C'mon, you are so totally coming with us!"

He raised an eyebrow. Oh?

Jean pulled out of the garage in a bright red convertible (that had, for some unknown inane reason, the top pulled down despite the chill) and down the long paved drive with a disgruntled Scott in the passenger seat, her boyfriend slouched over and a pleading expression on his face.

"Harry, didn't you, like, hear me? We're going shopping!"

His eyes widened comically.

Not that.

_Please, dear Merlin, not that._

He remembered all too well the Hogsmeade shopping trips Hermoine and Draco occasionally dragged him on (Ron still had not able been able to have a civil conversation with Malfoy, so had been excluded). After arguing with the Slytherin that the stupid pants were exactly the same, to which had been countered with 'but the cut is all different, it's a totally different style! Really, have you _no _taste in anything?', he had finally hexed the blond into silence and stormed out.

He had spent the better part of a week trying to convince the proud boy to forgive him.

_merlin, potter, is your skull really that thick? even an imbecile would be able to tell the difference_

_glass shattered, bricks were ripped apart from the sheer force; red- tinted puddles oozed from beneath still forms; clothes were ripped from their owners and their hangers, as laughter, always laughter, echoed in the lifeless alleys and silent streets_

Kitty stopped beneath the tree and glowered at him, foot tapping and arms akimbo as Kurt desperately muttered a prayer in Latin towards the smug gods watching the unfolding events.

Harry shook his head violently, his eyes shutting in an attempt to block out the resurging images.

Warmth and calm embraced him from Chatoyant's soul shard, and he managed to make his muscles relax their steel-strong tension.

**We can't avoid the world forever, hon. Even if it isn't our world.**

Then again, he mused, ignoring Kitty's growls, it might be nice to actually have some new clothes; those cleaning charms, while handy, were starting to wear the fabric thin, and he was getting sick of Transfiguring and Conjuring.

Chatoyant was wary, but agreed whole-heartedly.

Lightly as a stalking panther, he leapt to the ground directly in front of Kitty, smirking as her pleadings were cut off mid-rant. She blinked in surprise, murmuring a soft, "Oh."

He inclined his head in her direction to indicate his assent, and right in front of her eyes the thin black notebook and pencil disappeared as Chatoyant shifted into a small mouse that buried under his cloak collar. Raising an eyebrow as though asking if she were coming anytime after she picked up her jaw, Harry moved towards the car, just now noticing Rogue's sulking face in the back seat behind Jean.

He slid into the side opposite Rogue by lifting himself over the door, ignoring the seat belt and instead sitting stiffly upright. Kitty had recovered by now and walked through the car to the seat between him and the goth. Kurt teleported to the seat flanked by Scott and Jean.

It was not until now that Harry had seen Kitty's power. He knew Jeans, Scott's, Kurt's, Storm's, and many of the others, but until now Kitty Pride's had been a mystery, and Rogue was still an unknown, therefore a potential danger to be cautious of.

"_Yeah_, come _on_, let's go _shopping_!" an enthusiastically bubbly Kitty chirped in ecstasy.

"Joy," Rogue deadpanned, though when Harry looked at her closely he could see that she wasn't nearly as disgruntled as her tone suggested.

As they pulled out of the drive, Harry belatedly wondered why he, of all people, had been dragged into this. After all, he was not the most sociable of people, especially since...

_Well, my whole life_, he snorted. _Even in the beginning I always kept secrets from Ron and Hermoine, and I sure as hell wasn't about to talk to any of the Dursleys willingly._

Not even Draco had known the extent of his fears, the true depth of his emotions.

And now he never would.

**Dammit Harry, quit dwelling! It's fucking bad for your health, and you know it. Do you blame me for what happened?**

**Of course not!** Harry replied to his familiar, stunned that she would even think that.

**Then you can't blame yourself. I _am _you, remember? We're hurt, Harry, even I can admit that, but reliving every fucking negative thing _will not _help!**

"Hey Harry, did you hear me?"

Harry started at the sound of Jean's voice breaking into his reverie. "Pardon?" he asked softly.

She smiled at him through the rearview mirror, her long red hair caught in the wind that rushed past. "I asked you if the professor told you anything about your schooling."

He shook his head.

"He said that he enrolled you in Bayville High School, with the others in your classes. He had to pull a lot of strings and create some fake ID papers, and he said that although you were seventeen, you could pass for younger and placed you in the sophomore class. At least then you'll know some people."

Harry vaguely remembered Xavier saying that a day or so ago.

Then he frowned. He had started at Hogwarts when he was eleven. He had never had the chance to catch up with all the muggles his age. If he were to go to high school with only a fifth grade knowledge¹, someone would notice right away that something was wrong. _Great, just another thing to make me a freak…_He wondered if he should say anything. Maybe he could get out of going if he mentioned it to Xavier. He was pulled out of his thoughts when Jean continued.

"So we're now going to get you some new clothes and supplies. I don't know _where _you've been getting your other clothes," she added wryly, laughing. "Some are a bit too old-fashioned for school, and others just aren't exactly in the dress code, so we're gonna dress you up."

Scott and Kurt bemoaned their fate to the partially sunny skies.

Harry glanced down at his dark wizarding cloak, his black leather combat pants and boots, and the loose silk black shirt he wore. He shrugged; it was what he was used to. The clothes were durable, but not thick or restricting, the cloak woven with numerous protection and defensive spells, his boots light but tough and able to hide the various poisoned knives he kept sheathed in the lining.

If only they knew what else he carried under his clothes.

His belt held the before-mentioned loops for holding potion vials and poisons, as well as an extra large one for the 44 Magnum. On each wrist he wore a wide bracelet, Japanese in appearance and quite beautiful-until you saw the long, incredibly thin enchanted steel pins that were concealed along the bracelets' width; if placed in correct locations, they could render a person paralyzed, in intense pain, or force them under a long, slow death; he was only glad that the night he had shown the twins magic he had not been carrying anything (a careless, but in this case, fortunate, oversight that could have gotten him killed had it happened back home). The knife sheathed sideways in the back of his belt was nearly impossible to see unless you stood directly behind Harry, made of the same enchanted unbreakable steel as the pins and laced with a fine edge of silver in case of the occasional vampirical or lycanthropic attack. Sirius' knife had a special place all its own within the lining of his voluminous cloak, hidden in the constantly shifting folds. The only thing besides the boot- concealed knives was his wand, but it now impossible for it to reclaim its place.

A pile of splinters and charred feather were not much to rely on.

Friday night he had found much of his weapons shrunk in his pockets, and he could vaguely recall shrinking them during _that night_, though the reason of that action eluded his mind. He had immediately replaced them more out of habit than any actual concern of attack, feeling much more comfortable with the familiar weights back in place.

**Old habits die hard,** Chatoyant murmured, having been following his musings.

"I also _so _need to get my new outfit for the dance," Kitty broke in, a veritable ball of excited energy. "So does Rogue, and, like, so do all of you." She grinned, her brown eyes shining. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes, still highly uncomfortable being crammed into such a small space with five other people.

While Harry generally got along fine with most of the mutants (silence does have the habit of preventing a lot of fights and disagreements), he could feel a fine tension between himself and Rogue. She still seemed slightly irritated about the night Harry had arrived, when he had placed her under an Unspeakable Hex. Not that she knew what it was, a hex, but she could certainly feel its effects. Pity; she seemed a fairly intelligent and interesting, if not prickly, person.

**You win some, you lose some**, a sage Chatoyant nodded gravely.

A few moments' time later found the car full of young adults pulling into the packed parking lot, earning a groan from the oldest male.

"Can't I just blast one of them?" he pleaded with his girlfriend, gesturing towards a car that had parked strangely and thus was taking up more than its allotted space.

"No, Scott, you cannot," Jean sighed in exasperation as she finally found a spot and pulled in, cutting the engine, aware of the amusement from three of the other four occupants.

"Damn."

Harry snorted.

He found himself being ushered along with the other two males by a determined Jean and an enthused Kitty towards the mall's automatic doors, Rogue trying her best not to look interested and failing miserably. When they did get inside, Rogue said that she was going to check out another store across the mall on the upper floor and disappeared, much to Kurt's disgust.

"Aw, come on sis, you wouldn't leave your favorite little brother to suffer at the hands of these vile women! _Ow_!"

He rubbed the back of his head where a glaring Kitty had smacked him.

"Ooh, that looks like a good place to start!"

Weaving with an earned ease through the milling crowds, Jean and Kitty made their way to a large storefront that announced the latest fashions at discount. The other three trailed behind more slowly.

"This is going to be a nightmare," Kurt groaned.

"It might not have been so bad if we hadn't been made to come with those two," Scott agreed. "At least Rogue had the sense to get away as soon as possible."

They looked at him, but Harry did not contribute any commentary.

Inside the store of choice was a selection of music that Harry rather liked; a mixture of rock and mood that created a truly original sound. It was not as brightly lit as the rest of the mall, making it a bit easier on the eyes, and racks upon racks of clothes, from pants to shirts to jackets to boxers, spanned the entire length of the rather impressively-sized store, all the way back to where the dressing rooms were located.

"Oh Scott, this would look great on you!" Jean practically squealed, surprising Harry (the down-to-earth redhead hardly seemed like the squealing type). She grabbed the poor guy's arm and dragged him off towards a rack of shirts. After Kitty commandeered Kurt, Harry was left on his own.

**This is rather boring,** Chatoyant commented.

"Not exactly my style of choice," either, he muttered, glancing at a price tag and exclaiming beneath his breath, "Bloody hell!" He wasn't sure what the conversion rate from pounds to dollars was, but he was sure that if he did he would not even dare touch the clothes.

**Think we could skiv outta here?** Chatoyant asked hopefully, her tiny mouse nose peeking over the hem of his cloak. Harry glanced around at the other mutants, seeing that they were all otherwise occupied.

**You _are _talking to the person that toured the halls on a regular basis after curfew,** he smirked, moving nonchalantly to the door and slipping back out without a single person noticing his departure.

**But you had the invisibility cloak,** she reminded him sternly. He mentally flipped her off, and she snickered.

The crowds of people were a bit intimidating, making Harry feel somewhat claustrophobic. He had always had a problem with small spaces, probably due in part to his so-called 'family' growing up. The fact that the amount of people in such a small, enclosed place also made a good target was not exactly settling either...

_No. Voldemort does NOT exist anymore. He's dead. You fucking killed him, remember?_

Oh yes, he quite remembered.

**Let's find Rogue**, his familiar suggested, sharing his feelings of discomfort. She shifted into a small black cat and jumped down to the ground, her finely tuned senses already on the alert for the goth's scent. **Well, come on already, help me find her!** she huffed, furry little body sliding like oil over water between the people's feet.

Harry loosened the tight grip he constantly held over his inner power, letting thin tendrils of magic fan outwards in an ever-growing spider's web that trembled and pulsed and moved with the psychic control of Harry's mind over it and the jarring of every mind as a person unknowingly stepped through it, a few much stronger than most, indicating a mutant. He also concentrated on his sense of smell, heightening the sense and allowing him to catch the individual scent of those around him.

Throughout the smells of perfume and cologne, sweat, and human bodies, he caught a faint whiff of incense. At the same time, his mind tasted a psychic pattern that practically shrieked 'I'm over here! I'm Rogue, get your damn ass over here!'

He wondered why she smelled like incense.

His feet had continued to follow his familiar; his body managing to maneuver through the hordes of his species while his mind was otherwise occupied. The scent of incense grew stronger and the tug on his mind more powerful until he found himself in front of a store that being given a wise berth by the more prudish-looking of the crowd.

Heavy rock pounded from within, its thrumming bass humming along the floors and into the wide corridors of the main mall; inside was lit with a few fluorescent lights and many black lights. It was, unsurprisingly, a clothes store, but judging from the leather and vinyl and mesh it was not what one would call a normal, everyday thrift outlet.² Chatoyant sat outside the entrance proudly, washing her paws snootily and basking in the admiring looks and bemused glances thrown her way, her dark fur turned an odd raven- blue by the black light that hung just above the doorway.

Knowing she could take care of herself, Harry steeled himself and walked into the store, at once feeling not quite as misplaced in the outfit he was currently wearing.

"Heya, sir, ya need any help?"

Harry shook his head at the tall male teenager lounging behind the counter with a magazine resting on his baggy pants-clothed legs. The clerk shrugged, the multiple piercings clinking and dangling wildly at the movement, and turned back to his reading.

The wizard went into the back of the store, looking for any sign of the tall girl.

"Harry, what are you doing in here?"

The familiar southern-accented voice called to him from behind a shelf unit covered in various posters and voodoo dolls, and he looked over it to see a surprised Rogue staring at him. She had several pairs of skirts and pants thrown over one shoulder, and there was a frostiness to her hazel eyes.

"Looking," he said simply, his attention caught by a spiked collar. The mutant smirked.

"I suppose Jean and Kitty got boring," she guessed. He shrugged.

"They were otherwise occupied." Harry ran a hand over a long, black trench coat.

**Imagine the possibilities of carrying with THAT baby,** Chatoyant whistled, rubbing against his legs with a purr.

"Who's that?" Rogue asked, looking at the cat in curiosity.

"Guess," Harry monotoned. Her eyes narrowed, then widened, and her mouth curved into the shape of a silent 'oh'.

There was a few moments of silence, and finally Rogue asked, somewhat stiffly, "Really, why _are _you here?"

"Looking," he repeated, smirking. "I do need new clothes, but the other store was not exactly...in my taste, nor price range."

Harry paused. How was he supposed to pay for this?

Seeing his look, Rogue explained. "The professor gives us each a certain amount of money to spend on clothes and school stuff, and a smaller allowance to buy unnecessary things, earned whenever we do chores and whatnot. Since Jean and Scott have graduated high school and are now in college, Xavier is paying for their tuition, but he doesn't give them any money anymore. That's why they have to work, if they want to shop."

Oh.

And he here he was ready to Transfigure some dollars. At least he had not sunk low enough to steal. Yet.

"What do you plan to get?" Rogue continued, her voice still cool and detached. He blinked. Why carry on a conversation with someone you don't like?

_why fall in love with an enemy_

He shook his head, forcing his thoughts to rewind and replay what had been asked.

"I don't really know," he said quietly, still not looking at her. "I wasn't planning anything."

Rogue pursed her lips at the other, watching as he casually glanced around at the interior of one of her favorite haunts. He was definitely a mystery, one she doubted she would ever solve, and in truth she really had no desire to. It was his business, and although she was not particularly fond of him, she had to admit that there was something about him that brought out her rusty, rarely used motherly instincts. She sighed.

Fine.

"Here," she said, reaching out to grab his arm. He jerked away, eyes narrowing in distrust. She rolled her eyes.

God had better be watching this and remember it when she died.

"I'm not going to hurt you," she sighed. "I was going to hand you my clothes to hold while I go find you something."

He blinked, the green emerald becoming confused. She thrust the clothes she was carrying at him irritably, brushing past him and then gesturing for him to follow. "C'mon, men's section is back here."

"I have no money," he said, making her strain to hear him.

"Rogue rolled her eyes though he couldn't see the action. "Gee, stupid, what did you think I was going to have you do, run naked?" Oh, the look on the others' faces if that ever happened. "I have money, I'll pay for it."

He made a sound that indicated a forthcoming protest.

"Don't."

He shut his mouth with a sharp click.

Her boots made a soft thump on the tile as she walked, rhythmic and soothing in its normalcy. Down past aisles of novelties, the women's section, the gag gift section that made his eyes widen and his breath catch in a short bark of black humor, and finally into the men's section.

"Drop those there," she said shortly, pointing at a chair, and he obliged. "You need to take off your cloak, unless you can tell me what sizes you are."

He stiffened visibly, and Rogue wondered what she had said wrong. Eventually he jerkily reached up and slipped off the cloak, allowing her to see him for the first time without it.

He wasn't anything impressive, height-wise, but she could tell by the way he moved and the way the clothes fitted on him that he was not only lightly muscled, but in very good shape. The dark hair that fell just past his shoulder blades was tied off into a low ponytail at the nape of his neck with a strip of random leather, shorter lengths pulling free and falling softly around his thin, delicate-featured face.

She turned away, mentally sighing. He was, admittedly, and if she dared use Kitty's terms, hot and physically very attractive, but he was not her type.

Damn.

Although it is not like her power would allow her to do anything anyway.

Does not mean she couldn't enjoy dressing him up, though if asked she would have denied ever thinking that.

_This looks promising. Ooh, this too, and maybe if we added this..._

Harry glanced at himself in the mirror a little later, a bit dubious.

"It looks fine, Harry," Rogue said in a self-assured tone. "Very fine, in fact."

He had tried on numerous pants and shirts, jackets, accessories, undergarments, and just about everything else; not long after Rogue had decided to help him, he had finally given up arguing and just did what he was told, though he made it quite clear that they were not buying anything extravagant or more extreme than he did not deem fit.

How the hell was he supposed to know those were pants?

Somewhere along the way, the atmosphere between he and the female mutant had changed from tense and irritated with one another to slightly more relaxed and teasing. While Harry still refused to let himself trust these people after knowing them for only four days, five if one counted the day he arrived, he had determined that if they remained unprovoked, they would not attempt anything, and therefore he could afford to be only cautious, and not on high alert.

He still rarely spoke more than a few words at a time.

What he was most grateful for was the fact that for the last few days (not nights-he was helpless then to his thrice-damned emotions) the cold insanity that had been tickling the edges of his mind had been more easily held at bay. The four days he had spent after the Last Battle were hazy at best, but what he did remember...

A wave of chilled air made him shiver. Fortunately Rogue did not notice, too busy arguing heatedly with the guy behind the counter as she purchased the items they had finally decided on.

"We have to go find the others," she said flatly, giving him half of the bags and slinging hers over her shoulder. He followed mutely, Chatoyant still pouncing around in her cat form. Another point in the girl's favor, he thought lazily, was that at least she did not try to force him into conversation, as she tended to avoid them herself, and respected the silences.

"Aah!"

Rogue cried out, and Harry whipped to attention, body tensing to attack. She was sprawled awkwardly on the ground, and even as he wondered to the cause of her fall she was pushing herself back up with a snarl.

"Lance, you _fucking_ bastard!"

A tall brunette male, broad and smirking rolled his eyes at her. There were two other with him, both of whom were male; one was incredibly large and bulky, the other small, thin, and gangly, his flesh tinted green and his eyes large and mocking.

"Sorry, babe, didn't see ya there."

"Hey, whaddo we 'ave here?" the smaller of the trio grinned in his heavy street affliction, noticing Harry and the black cat that had wrapped itself around his shoulders.

The surrounding people had stopped to stare at the sudden intrusion on their lives, and from what they were whispering he found that these three were also mutants. He ignored the rude question, instead observing them for any clues on what kind of fighters (or people) they were.

The big one was obviously strong, which was most likely his power; he did not seem to hold enough intelligence to control anything like telekinesis or telepathy or some such. The first that had spoken, the brunette, seemed well able to take care of himself in a fight, but his power was unknown. The third was just strange.

"Hey, anybody in there?" the gangly one inquired, reaching forward to tap on his head. Harry's hand shot out, grabbing that wrist before the other could even blink, and glared at him.

"Don't touch me."

"Lance! What are you guys doing?"

Kitty's voice cut through the crowd, and she appeared with the rest of their little group in tow.

Instantly, Lance's attitude changed from cocky and smug to confident and calm.

"Hey Kitty," he said smoothly. Kitty stopped and stared at Rogue, who was still sitting on the ground in fury.

"Lance! Like, what were guys doing?" she demanded, angry.

"Well, I..."

"Let's go, we're causing a scene," Jean said calmly, taking in the situation in a swift glance and concluding that they needed to leave. Harry agreed, but he gave the hand he was still grasping a sharp twist and a tight squeeze, hearing a gasp from the offender, and then released it.

Chatoyant hissed menacingly.

"Don't bother," Lance spat out. "We're done with you anyways." He turned away, already beginning to walk. The other two, with a final look at the X- men, followed, though the gangly one rubbed his wrist and leered at Rogue.

"See ya at school, baby."

"Toad...!" she snarled warningly, and he grinned and disappeared after his comrades.

**Well, that whole thing was absolutely pointless,** Chatoyant cracked. **Can't _wait _to see _them _at school.**

"Let's get outta here, we're attracting too much attention," Scott murmured so that only the others would be able to hear him.

Harry reached down to grab Rogue's arm and hoist her to her feet, but Rogue glared at him and twisted out of his reach, getting to her feet on her own.

"Don't," she muttered, "unless you want to fall unconscious for several hours from energy loss."

Harry blinked, but dipped his head in acquiescence to her wishes.

So that must be a part of her power, at least...

"How do they know you're mutants?" Harry asked, resisting Jean's attempt to herd them out the door until he got his answer.

"They saw us on TV once, using our powers, and we were tricked into revealing ourselves," Kurt supplied. "Now the Congress is trying to decide what to do with all of us."

"It was so much easier when they didn't know about us," Jean sighed, glancing at the people who, now that hey recognized her and the other students, stared openly.

**Sounds like our world. Talk about coincidence.**

"There's talk about registration, segregation, even just good ol' fashioned 'locking us up and throwing away the key'," Kurt moaned.

"Then they do know that there are those that have special, for lack of a better term, powers?" Harry clarified. The others nodded.

The five jumped and yelped when suddenly all the bags and packages they had been carrying suddenly shrank to a fraction of their original size. Harry smirked, putting his purchases into his pocket. If the whole world knew about mutants, why hide his own powers? They would pass it off as him being a mutant anyway, not a wizard, and it was not like there was a wizarding world in danger of being caught out by Muggles here; it simply didn't exist anymore.

**And Voldemort's no longer a worry**, added his familiar absently, already plotting ways to use their magic without having to worry about a Muggle or Deatheater seeing and reporting it.

Harry stopped dead in the parking lot, not noticing when the others walked by and then paused to see what was wrong with him.

No Voldemort and his followers.

No Dumbledore or Hogwarts.

No magical or wizarding races.

He was the only true conscious magic-wielder in this entire world.

And he was not restricted to only one or two 'gifts', like mutants.

He had magic, and knew how to use it.

Holy shit.

Everyone he had ever known or held dear really was dead.

He had nowhere to return to, if he could.

He truly was alone.

He truly was a freakish, monstrous murderer.

"Dear God..."

"Harry? Are you all right?"

The darkening sky dissolved in his vision, and the pavement rushed up to meet him as he fell into shocked unconsciousness.

* * *

1: I think that he was in fifth grade when he got his acceptation letter from Hogwarts. I could be wrong though… If anyone knows, please let me know.

2: No, it's _not_ Hot Topic. Just because it's the only store that carries any semblance of the clothing I like, doesn't mean I support it (it's owned by Gap, of all things). And I _purposefully _left out a store name, because I hate reading fics where Harry just up and goes to Hot Topic, or something.

Harry fainting--imagine sensory overload. The last of your kind in a different time _and_ space, you spent four days wandering in insanity, et cetera...a lesser person would have _died_ by now.

* * *

CF: Though Hades' doesn't support Hot Topic, I do, so I say that it _is_ Hot Topic… Not that I changed it in the actual story. Just thought I would get my feelings out in the open…

Though the first eleven chapters will be basically the original chapters, with a few things being changed, after that, will by sad works… no, I don't that I will be able to do this story justice, but I am willing to try. Please bare with me when that time comes. Arrigato!

On to the reviews:

**Anguigena: **I'm so glad that your glad that I'm continuing it. I couldn't just let such a great fic sit and die like it would

have. Though it _will_ take me some time to get my own chapters out… only five more to go… I will try my best

to keep the style as close to Hades' as possible, as to not disappoint.

**ApocSM:** I will try to update fairly regularly, though I _really_ can't promise…

**GreyGryph:** I _will_ continue this no matter how long it will take me. I was devastated to find that Hades' wouldn't be

finishing it. Thank you for the luck. I'll need it.

**Mats Forsen:** I'm glad.

**Never Odd Or even:** I'll try to meet your expectations. And hey look! I updated! Yay!

I am so glad that someone out there is as hooked to this story as I am. Soon I will have a time line up (if only to help me sometimes…) I'll let ya'll know when I have that up.

Remember to Review!

PLEASE!


	6. Chessboard of Life

**I went back and changed some of the mall trip… Mostly Harry thinking about school. So you might want to go back and check it out. **

The White and Black Queens were actual mutants in the real 'X-Men' comics.

* * *

"_In the desert i saw a creature, naked, bestial, who, squatting upon the ground, Held his heart in his hand, And ate of it. I said, "Is it good, friend?" _

_"It is bitter--bitter," he answered, "But I like it Because it is bitter, And because it is my heart."_

_--_Stephen Crane, "III In the Black Riders and Other Tales"

* * *

_soft silver eyes gazed down at him, kiss-bruised lips curved gently into a small smile_

_wake up, love, they're getting worried_

_don't make me smack some sense into your cute little ass, the lips huffed in quiet laughter with a suggestive wink from the silver eyes, before they became somber_

_don't do anything stupid to get yourself here faster; you'll get here eventually, just learn to enjoy the time you do have_

_learn to live again_

_don't worry, I'll be here for you_

_no, don't leave me again, dragon_

_promise me you won't try to hurt yourself anymore_

_but..._

_please_

_but it's so hard without them...without you..._

_a single tear turned silver from the loving eyes fell as those lips pleaded, please, love, please don't hurt yourself_

_you've had enough pain to last for the next couple incarnations_

_i'll try..._

_i'll be here waiting for you when you do get here, the silk-soft lips whispered_

_waiting_

_always waiting for you, love_

_always_

A phantom touch ghosted across his cheekbone.

_Draco..._

Warmth bled into his body from the form he was pressed against, firm and comforting, held in arms that were strong and sure.

Instinctively, he curled into the warmth, seeking to lose himself in it and finally banish the remnants of cold that never seemed to completely leave.

Indistinct sounds reached his ears, the echoes having the quality of human voices murmuring from underwater. The thought was strange, but right now the warmth was more important than nameless voices.

Another sound now, fainter than the gentle voices.

Music.

A piano?

_Hmm, it's classical; sounds like Beethoven's Fifth, or some such._

Classical.

_fear gripped his heart_

The once-reassuring warmth disappeared; the arms holding him grew tighter and tighter until he couldn't breathe, his lungs seized up and every muscle tensed until it hurt.

_faint strains of classical echoed in the silence_

The love and longing that had surged into his heart after hearing his lover's voice after so long was ripped brutally away to be replaced with overwhelming terror.

_do you know what the dark lord granted to me, boy?_

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Here, Scott, set him down."

Jean worriedly hovered as Scott gently carried an unconscious Harry Potter into the mansion as fast as he could without jostling or dropping his burden. In one of the side living rooms, he laid the still figure onto a couch with a gentleness the telepath rarely saw him exhibit to others. Next to him, Rogue set down the prone body of the strange little shape- shifter without a word. None noticed the radio that one of the teachers had left on, sending classical music drifting quietly into the room.

She sent a swift mind-call to the professor and gave him a short report, before turning her attention back to the little group that had left that morning to go shopping.

"What do you think happened?" Kitty asked timidly. "I mean, like, people don't just drop unconscious in parking lots."

"I don't know," Jean murmured, stooping to her knees to look more closely at Harry. "His eyes are moving; he must be dreaming."

"Can you find out what about?" Kurt ventured. "Maybe that's the reason he's like this."

"I could," Jean began after a moment of thought. "But I don't think that's a good idea. When he finally wakes, if he finds out that I probed his thoughts then we'll lose the chance of ever gaining his trust." _Besides, I'm not sure I'd be prepared for what I'd see,_ she finished in her mind, watching the rapid movement of the cornea beneath the eyelid. _Whatever it is, it's probably pretty intense._

"Do any of you know what caused this?" the voice of Xavier asked from the doorway. They all turned in unison and watched him enter, Logan and, strangely, Forge at his side.

"No professor," Scott answered, shaking his head. "We were just walking out of the mall when he dropped to the back of the group and...well, you can see."

Jean desperately wanted to know what the man was thinking as he stared at Harry pensively and nodded his head, seemingly to himself.

"I think I may have a idea as to the cause, but I'm not sure..."

"What?" they all demanded immediately. Xavier raised his eyes to meet theirs gravely, every trace of calm or quiet humor gone from its normal place and instead replaced with ultimate seriousness.

"What I will say, while not particularly incriminating, may not leave this room, under any circumstances. I am taking a huge leap of faith with Harry's trust in telling you all this."

Jean was secretly stunned at her mentor's unusual attitude. What could possibly be so bad that not only would it cause Harry's relapse but require their reassurance to the professor that they would not break his confidence?

Forge discretely closed the door so that any eavesdroppers would not 'overhear'.

"Ever since he came here, Harry Potter has been having nightmares, for lack of a better term. From what I can tell, though, they seem to be actual memories, not just creations of his subconscious."

"You've been reading his dreams?" Logan asked gruffly, his lowered tone indicating his disapproval of such an act.

Xavier shook his head. "No Logan, I haven't. Unfortunately, due to their stressful nature, Harry has quite accidentally been broadcasting them."

"Then wouldn't I have also felt it?" Jean asked, honestly confused. Was her power slipping?

"Most likely not, Jean. You can sense thoughts only when you concentrate or think about it; I doubt you would do that in your sleep."

"But because you're so sensitive," Kurt interrupted slowly, "you can pick up on the 'broadcasts' whether you want to or not."

"Correct Kurt, though I must admit that sometimes I sincerely wish I couldn't."

"How bad are they?" Rogue asked quietly.

Xavier sighed, leaning back and resting his elbows on the armrests of his wheelchair as he steeped his fingers. "Very bad, I'm afraid. Quite frankly, I'm surprised he is still alive and not dead or completely insane. I have never seen such cruelty visited upon a single person as I see in his dream memories."

"Is that why he is the way he is?" Kitty wondered, biting her lip. "Like, why he freaked when Kurt first teleported and when people make sudden moves, and the incident with Gambit, and the fact that he, like, hardly ever talks?"

"Yes, Kitty, because where he is from that is the only way to survive. Trust was a thing in rare supply, and it was not unusual to discover that the friend that shook your hand and greeted you with a smile would become the assassin sent to kill you that night."

"Jesus," Scott muttered.

"What happened?" Jean couldn't stop the whisper that escaped from her mouth.

Xavier paused, and then said, "That is for Harry to tell. But it is severe enough where he will break if he does not face what was done to him, and what he went through.

"You all must learn to have patience with him; he has been betrayed so many times that social interaction becomes an interrogation to him, and he will either fight or run if he grows uncomfortable. However, his pride will not allow pity, or charity. You must be yourselves around him, and not walk on eggshells. It will take time, but he is one of us now; it is up to you to show him the family that he never had."

"What happened to them?"

Xavier hesitated. "From what I can glean from his broadcasts, his parents were murdered when he was still a child. I believe his friends and remaining family were gradually killed as well over the years."

The rest of the mutants were silent.

"Logan, would you please carry him to his room?"

"'Course," he growled gruffly, walking to the couch and bending over to scoop the comatose youth into his arms for transport. He blinked, startled, when his load curled into his chest and buried his hands in his shirt as though desperate to just be held.

The black cat mewed pitifully, a heart-wrenching sound that did not come from normal felines.

They all jumped when Harry stirred, his breath catching into a sob and his body curling ever tighter. A few silent tears made their way to the floor far below, and there was a broken whisper.

"Draco..."

Suddenly the thin body seized up, and a tight fist struck out blindly, narrowly missing Logan's face. As though Harry were on fire he dumped him unceremoniously to the floor, his amber-brown eyes surprised and a bit furious.

Harry's eyes flew open, and he scrambled backwards until his back came into contact with the couch, his breaths quick and shallow. Lying on the floor, vulnerable and obviously frightened, Jean felt her motherly instincts come swarming to the surface.

"What's the matter, kid?" Logan asked.

But Harry's eyes were no longer focused on Wolverine. He was glancing around, seemingly ignoring the presence of the others; his breathing quickened even more, and Jean could see panic setting in.

The cat suddenly yowled, her little body whirling around at the same time she shifted, this time becoming a miniature dragon that beat its wings in agitation and sent small spurts of fire dancing into the air. They all followed her gaze, which fell upon...

...the radio.

Harry flung out a hand, snarling, and the small machine burst into millions of pieces with a quiet boom and the sound of a, well, a machine being blown to millions of pieces.

"Harry?" Kitty whispered.

Harry blinked, his body relaxing slightly. Taking them by surprise, the pale skin on his cheekbones turned slightly red.

"Sorry. Don't like classical," he said stiffly.

"Why not?" asked Jean softly. Harry shrugged, but did not answer.

"Harry, can you tell us what made you collapse?" Xavier inquired.

The little dragon hissed, and Jean was suddenly struck by the fact that they did not know the strange little animal's name, or even what it was.

"Who's Draco?" Kurt wondered with all the subtlety of a steamroller.

That got a visible reaction. Harry's eyes snapped to the German elf, narrowing dangerously as he stood menacingly.

"Where did you get that name?"

Cursing Kurt's bluntness, Jean realized that Harry probably thought they had pried into his mind. "You said the name when you were out of it," she said calmingly.

Harry paused, staring at her, before turning away and swearing violently under his breath in a language none of them had ever heard. Then, surprisingly, he murmured an answer.

"Draco was my life, my soul. He was tortured for my whereabouts, but when he refused to betray me, he was killed and sent to the front gates of our school."

Jean clapped a hand over her mouth, too horrified to even recognize that the person had been a male. If she ever lost Scott like that...

"Why would someone want to know your location?" Scott asked after a moment.

Harry gave a smile that bordered on not-quite-right-in-the-head and sent chills up the redhead's spine. "Most insane serial killers would do just about anything for revenge."

Kitty squeaked, and Kurt toppled from the back of the armchair he had been sitting on.

"Was this serial killer called the Dark Lord?"

Jean had never seen expressions change so fast; the smile on the black- haired teen's face faded into the smoothest blank mask in the span of a breath, the only sign of emotion the glowing green of his eyes.

"You know, it seems to me that you and I have been having these types of conversations ever since I got here, professor. What would make you think he's called the Dark Lord?" he whispered. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees.

Xavier looked apologetic. "You've been broadcasting rather powerfully while asleep. I apologize; I mean no intrusion, but because of my power I am sensitive to such things."

The little dragon landed on the carpet, its back arching and teeth showing in a saliva-dripping snarl of feral rage.

The mirror overhanging the fireplace suddenly rippled and shattered outwards, the pieces flying to a sudden standstill and hanging in the air as though small shards of light suspended on a puppeteer's strings. In the hearth, a fire roared into existence, flames leaping up the flue with the power of its conjurer. Shadows seemed to quiver and tremble, sliding across the carpet like silent wraiths to dance around their master, small whispers sliding from their depths as faintly as the murmurs of an insect, echoing as though from a long, dark tunnel.

Harry's lips pulled back menacingly. The two canines were longer than was normal.

Then he disappeared.

The mirror shards dropped with a faint tinkling to the floor, and the fire died down to normal levels. The shadows were gone, leaving no sign that they had disobeyed the laws of physics and reality.

Jean wondered why the ground was shaking, until she realized it was herself.

"He didn't look too happy," Kitty said weakly, sagging to her knees.

"Apparently whenever someone intrudes upon his privacy or mentions something from his past, he loses control," Rogue observed casually, seemingly unruffled by the display.

"Now what?" Kurt groaned from where he had previously fallen to the ground.

"We let him work off his temper," Xavier replied promptly. "He's currently in the woods on this estate, so we don't have to worry about him being seen. He left because his emotions were overriding the control on his powers, as he demonstrated."

"Just how powerful _is _this kid?" Logan grunted.

"I'm not sure. I can't even pinpoint his powers; so far, teleportation, manipulation of solid matter and shadows, pyrokinesis, and telekinesis; not to mention that his pet can shape-shift."

Jean saw the animal still in place, though it was now back to its black cat form. Her violet eyes watched them with an intelligence no animal should have.

"I don't think that's an animal of any kind," she said slowly, each word cautious. "It must be more than that. Notice how she reacted to Harry's own emotions?"

"It's magic, remember?" Rogue grumbled mockingly.

"Yes. Yes, I believe that it just may be," Xavier mused aloud.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Power crackled as it skipped across pale, scarred skin, wild with freedom. It burrowed into the ground, slipped into leaves and plants, shot towards the sky. Its conduit moaned in frustrated rage, slamming a fist into the trunk of an unmoving tree.

Losing control seemed to be the story of his life lately.

Harry tried in vain to get his magic back into its confines, feeling slight edges of panic beginning to shade his anger at the act's futility.

He absolutely hated it when his privacy was invaded upon. Especially dreams.

He was not even going to mention the fact that someone other than himself and one other person had dared touch his familiar.

Everyone knew Harry Potter was powerful. Ever since he had been born, he had been able to do Wandless magic; though this in itself was not unusual for an untrained witch or wizard, what _was _unusual was the sheer force and power and frequency behind the emotion-driven spells. While his abilities to turn rats into teacups or mix wormwood with asphodel were hardly above average, it was his more primal and emotionally influenced talents that were noteworthy; offensive and defensive magic, Healing, Soul magic, animal and Wild magic, elemental, etc; it was one of the reasons Defense Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures had always been two of his best classes, and Potions his worst (it was not just because Snape was a bastard). He had risen to the top of the power ranks with blinding speed, surpassing even Dumbledore and, eventually, Voldemort by a considerable amount.

And because of the _specialized_ training Dumbledore had put him through, the very structure of his physical body altered to match his uncontrolled surges of power.

In other words, he was a freak.

Harry breathed in deeply low in his chest, finally managing to regain some semblance of self-control. Stiffly, he leaned his back against a tree and slid down to sit on the ground, closing his eyes and concentrating on making his muscles relax a little. Fortunately, because of the thick canopy above his head, the snow had not managed to penetrate and cover the earth, so instead of being wet and freezing, it was just freezing.

He and Draco had consummated their relationship for the first time in February in fifth year.

They had only been together for a year before he died.

It was their anniversary in a couple weeks.

Harry missed his other half. He missed the snide comments and insults, the sharp, cunning wit, the natural grace and casual arrogance; he missed the silver of the eyes that were cold to the world, but to him were proud and warm and laughing and loving; he missed the long, graceful hands that had helped him heal and endure; he missed the cool, sexy smirk of the soft lips and the rare, true smile that seemed almost sad; he missed the voice that he'd heard hissed in anger, raised in battle, soft in pleasure, firm in stubbornness, light in amusement; he missed the comfortable silences between them as they worked side by side with their elbows or shoulders or knees touching; the teasing, the long, romantic evenings and fiery seductions, the feeling of having someone know you so wholly, know every quirk and flaw and imperfection and yet love you in spite of them, seeing the entire picture and holding onto you with protective fierceness and loving tenderness, and somehow knowing without a single passed word what you were thinking, feeling, seeing. The feeling of being complete, and not wanting for another thing or another person for the rest of eternity, because you had what you had ever needed in your arms.

_always_

Harry curled into a tight little ball at the base of the oak tree, his shivers not due to the cold.

Sometimes, having power was not worth the consequences.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Chatoyant stirred.

**Hmm...warm...**

Her furry little feline body stretched luxuriously, her head bumping gently against her mortal's chin. Pausing, she waited for him to wake, but he remained motionless.

Her form was quite comfortable tucked against his neck and wrapped by the crook of his arm; it created a little pocket of body heat that was very nice. Her mind was still sleep-fogged, however, and protested firmly against moving. Familiars didn't need to sleep, but then again, this was Chatoyant, familiar to the Boy-Who-Lived; rules and tradition just seemed to wilt in their presence with no conscience effort on their part.

Wait.

It was Monday, the worst creation of the universe that the gods had ever dared make. Even caviar was not as bad (and she knew; Dragon had convinced her human to try some, and she had shared in the resulting nauseous feeling. After all, what kind of person ate fish eggs?). Mondays should be hauled out to the backyard and shot. They were the spawn of Satan, icky little things that clung and annoyed you like the gum that squeaked loudly on the bottom of your shoe every time you walked.

Reluctantly, Chatoyant forced herself to move, yawning. She had to wake up her human if he wanted to make it on time to his first day of school. Pity, she thought fuzzily, looking down at his face that in sleep looked strangely calm and serene. After laying awake for the majority of the night worrying about what would happen during school the next day, he had finally fallen asleep only about two or three hours ago. He really, really needed all the sleep he could get.

She prepared herself for a mind-call, but then stopped, glancing at the clock on the side table. Surely ten extra minutes would not hurt?

She shifted and laid her head on his wrist, watching him quietly. She remembered that Dragon always did this, too, just sitting silently and observing the minute changes in position, the subtle movement in facial muscles as dreams and thoughts changed course. Her Harry rarely moved while asleep, something retained from inhabiting a cupboard for the first ten years of life and then a small single bed every summer afterwards. Dragon, however, was always moving; he would toss and turn, talk occasionally, take up all the room and sheets; one night, Harry had grown so frustrated he had pushed him off the bed so that he would be able to get some sleep.

Her human had two modes of sleep; aware and deep. Never in between the two. 'Aware' mode was so light as to allow him to wake up at the slightest noise. 'Deep' mode was exactly how it sounded. One would have a better chance of absolving Dumbledore from his lemon drop fetish (the Muggle term 'raising the dead' didn't apply here, since Dragon had been able to do that easily enough). Or perhaps stopping the universe in its whole entirety in its tracks would be a better comparison. Voldemort could attack not three feet away, but if he was in 'deep' mode, then he would not even turn over.

She missed Dragon just as much as her Harry did. He had not had a true familiar, since he had not been as magically powerful as her human, but she had loved Dragon just as much as Harry; after all, they were, essentially, the same person, herself and the Boy-Who-Lived.

Familiars were created by a combination of the four elements and a part of the fifth; tears and emotion for Water, breath and thought for Wind, blood and passion for Fire, soil of the heart's home and stability for Earth, and a part of the soul for 'akasha', the driving force of all life in the universe, the embodiment of magic and the Self, the fifth element. They, familiars, were a physical, tangible extension of the creator, a manifestation of oneself and a powerful connection to true magick; familiars could enhance and help control the concentration of a spellcaster or ritual worker; they could influence their mortal's moods and tendencies, reducing tempers and mood-swings; they were a mind-link, soul sharer, completely different and yet exactly the same in every way. Gender was always the opposite of the mortal's. No immortal had ever had a familiar, though the reason for such is unknown. Familiars were known for their privacy, however; they never spoke aloud to anyone but their mortal, and even then it was typically mind-speech, rarely verbal. No matter the personality of a familiar, it was considered an unwritten law that no one outside the familiar's soul-twin could touch them. It was rude, crude, and extremely invasive. Only a person bound and committed-a life-long lover, in their case-was the only one ever even considered.

But Dragon was perfectly acceptable; his hands were firm, but gentle, and knew not to rub her fur or scales or hair the wrong way. Besides, he was her Harry's mate, his partner, friend, and equal in everything, so opposite and wrong that he was right; the only one Harry would, or could, ever truly love. Dragon had also given her the name, at Harry's permission and request; Chatoyant, the name of a semi-precious stone commonly called Tiger Eye or Cat's Eye. He had been reading a Muggle book Harry had been given by Hermoine that spoke of many Muggle beliefs and superstitions, and had found, to his surprise, that many of the suppositions of stones and crystals had been more or less accurate (though the section on what witches really were made him raise an eyebrow, as every witch _he_ knew did not worship any deity); the stone was said to be of good luck, protection, beauty, courage and energy, warmth and divination, and believed that when placed beneath the tongue told of prophecy, wise judgment, and the Self; chatoyant had been proclaimed by Dragon to be the stone of Harry Potter (to which Harry had flushed in embarrassment and disbelief, and Dragon had had to resort to other methods to convincing Harry that he was, as always, right). Dragon had also made the theory that because Harry was such an adaptive creature, having so many facets to himself and such a profound ability to understand even non-human creatures, that that was the reason his familiar did not have one fixed form, like most.

And it was because of her shared soul with Harry that she knew him better than anyone. She had his memories, his mental and emotional scars and wounds, his inhibitions and distrust; but she was a familiar, made up largely of pure magick, and thus responded with a more practical and universal edge to things while her human reacted with gut feeling and blind instinct - human impulses - on more than one occasion. It was just their ways. Hedwig had been his first friend and confidante, Dragon his lover and soulmate, but Chatoyant was him, Harry, in his truest form.

Someone shrieked in outrage just outside the bedroom door for someone to get out of the bathroom.

Chatoyant blinked.

Wow. Wasn't often she was able to get so lost in thought about the ways of magic.

She raised her head from where it had been dozing against his arm to look at the clock.

Chatoyant blinked. Again.

This was turning out so be a very, very bad morning.

**HARRY! HARRY, WAKE UP NOW, THIS FUCKING INSTANT! YOU'LL BE LATE!**

Harry jerked awake at the screamed mind-call, eyes still unfocused from sleep.

"Wha'?" he grunted, voice gravelly from stress and lack of rest.

**Remember? School? Ring a bell anywhere in that junk pile of yours?**

"Shit," he groaned, sitting up and making Chatoyant protest in the loss of her heating blanket. "How long do I have?"

**First bell rings at seven forty-five. It is now seven-twenty**. It had been decided the day before that she would be staying here at the Institute, keeping in mind-call all day to give her input. She would be damned if she let her human go out without some form of moral support.

"Bloody hell, where the fuck did I put the bags?" he groused, searching frantically over the bedroom.

**Shrunk them, genius.**

Harry pounced on the cloak he had worn yesterday, pulling out the shrunken bags and returning them to normal size. He had forgotten to give his own purchases the same treatment after returning the others' packages to their own normal size yesterday after dinner.

Inside the black backpack Rogue had bought him were pencils, notebooks, and the other essential school knickknack thingies; he pulled on the baggy jeans covered in zippers and chains that the goth mutant had practically forced upon him in her ill-hidden excitement, a black long- sleeved shirt, and his normal boots.

"Well?" he gasped out to Chatoyant, still rushing around the room.

She squinted at him, pushing aside her sullen pout to study him with critical, bright eyes.

**Fine, though that shirt may cause a few raised eyebrows.**

"Oh, not like I haven't dealt with _those _all my life," he snorted, throwing on a long jacket in favor of the cloak and hurriedly tying back his hair.

**Touché**. Chatoyant sighed, curling her cat body into the remaining vestiges of warmth left behind on the pillow beneath the covers. She hoped to God nothing happened today, though considering who she was thinking about she doubted that would be the case.** How are you getting there?**

"I can't Apparate, since I've never been there before and I'd probably end up splinching myself. I'll just snag a ride from one of the others."

**Joy. Have fun. And Harry...**

"Yes?"

She chewed on her lip in indecision. **Just...be careful, all right? Everyone thinks you're a mutant, and that isn't necessarily a good thing, so just...please? Onegai?**

Chatoyant met his gaze evenly, knowing already what he was thinking and feeling thanks to their link. Finally, he gave her a small half-smile.

"I know whenever you switch into alternate languages that you're serious. I will be careful, and I won't get into trouble." For a moment, he sounded like he was back in his beginning years of school, telling Hermoine that he would not get in trouble.

_Well, we all know how successful that was._

Chatoyant watched his retreating back with not a little trepidation and unease.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Lady Deathstrike."

A tall, Asian woman stood in the doorway, her back ramrod straight and dark eyes inscrutable.

The speaker was an elegant, flawlessly and coldly beautiful woman seated behind a desk that supported only a small round hand-mirror on its black marble surface and a clear glass of red wine. Her voice was low for a woman's, deep and sensual.

"I thank you for coming."

Deathstrike dipped her head in acknowledgement.

"Have you received any word on my dear counterpart?"

"Yes, my Queen. Apparently, the senator she has had her eye on is starting to give in to her...persuasions."

"Explain." A pale hand, slender and graceful and deadly as any black widow's bite, swirled the wine thoughtfully.

"She has decided that her influence amongst the Senate is not sufficient. She is using her power to win over Senator Keverline to the best of her abilities, and it is inevitable that he eventually bend to her whim. As we speak, the Senate is in session, and the outcome will no doubt pave the way for mutants, or destroy it; she is slowly convincing Keverline to sway towards either total oppression of mutants, or segregation. Why, I do not know, nor could I guess, but I believe that her intentions are less than legal." The last word was pronounced delicately.

The Black Queen raised an eyebrow. "But of course." A sweet smile that dripped poison caressed her lips. "If I know her, then it is most likely she is pushing for a resolution that will result in bloodshed." She took a sip of the wine, rubbing idly at the black lipstick left on the crystal with a thumb.

"Why?" Deathstrike asked, her accented voice soft. "What would she stand to gain?"

The Queen smiled. "Bounties. Rewards. Assassinations. Bribes." She took on a disturbingly light, almost friendly tone. "She intends to turn our Constitution-protected society into a civil-war-torn barbaric shadow of our present nation." A soft, haunting laugh escaped that dark mouth. "The dreams of many like herself."

The only indication of Deathstrike's shock was the brief tightening of a muscle in her jaw.

"Does that include you, Black Queen?"

"Careful, my love. You tread precariously close to the serpent's den." The smile had turned predatory. "Send out Panther and my sweet Moonstar. I think it is now my move on the chessboard."

Deathstrike, after a hard look, gave a short bow and turned to leave, but then paused at the doorway.

"A contact has also given me new information on Xavier's Institute."

"Oh?"

"Apparently, there is a new student."

"Hmm, unsurprising. Charles would give a gutter-rat a master suite in the mansion."

"It is a boy that appears to be only a fifteen or sixteen, give or take a few years. His powers are unknown."

"What is this unknown errant like?"

Deathstrike decided that whoever was one the receiving end of her attention won her pity.

"He is quiet and somewhat of a loner."

"Potential?"

She paused, mentally running over what her contact had mentioned.

"I do not know."

The Black Queen sighed, raising her violet eyes to meet the dark, emotionless ones of the Asian mutant. One manicured nail dipped into the red wine, letting the drops fall back, shining scarlet as they caught the faint light.

"I do not wish to know of such insignificant circumstances. If you have something of importance to impart to me, then do so. Otherwise, do not bore me with news of freak children that serve no higher purpose to me than a possible corpses that will lie in the ruins should they manage to cross my path. I do not want to hear about Charles Xavier and his young protégés unless there is a specific reason for my attention. Please inform Panther and Dani Moonstar that they are to report to me as soon as possible. Understood?"

Her tone implied that if she didn't, she could bet she would never leave the room with her life.

Deathstrike was sure to keep her stoic façade in place; after all, she'd had years of practice.

"Of course, my Queen."

"Good. And, should you happen to meet him, be sure to give your charming father my regards."

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the jibe, but she would as commanded.

After all, she was Lady Deathstrike.

"You surprise me, love," the Black Queen murmured aloud to herself as the door closed silently behind the exiting mutant. "I suppose the lull after Magneto's death has bored your fiery blood, yes?"

The shadowed black sheers on the walls rippled with the breeze from an open window.

"The hounds of war will raise their call again, and stain their fangs with blood. Right, sister mine?"

She picked up the mirror, gazing back into the reflected version of her merciless eyes as she smiled, stroking the back lovingly.

* * *

onegai- Japanese for 'please'

Any resemblance to the movie is results of partial inspiration, partial coincidence.

On to the reviews!

**GreyGryph: **Thank you so much!

**Tmctflyboy: **I did. Glad you like it.

Thanks to **wolfbear** for pointing out the fact that Harry hasn't had proper muggle schooling since he was eleven. I think that that would be about 5th or 6th grade. I had thought about that when I was reading this story for the first time, and actually forgot about it when I started rewriting it… Thanks again. I will try to fix that without it sounding like I just dumped it in there. And I thank you for the compliments. Unfortunately, I can't really take the credit for the first eleven chapters. Those have to go to Hades' Phoenix.

Please Review!


	7. I Put a Spell On You

Sorry that it's taking so long to update. My best friend has been hogging the comp. Not that I'm mad at her or anything. She _loves_ to pull people's strings. **_Diasuki L-chan!_**

****

You know how fun it is to write about the inside of Harry's mind? (foreshadowing here, people! )

words in italics without proper capitalization--past memories.

**Words in bold**--mental speech between Harry and Chatoyant.

_Other phrases in Italics_--Harry's thoughts.

blah--Harry replying to the voice in his head

:blah:--The voice replying to Harry

No song lyrics this time, you can breathe easy here.

"Nervous, Harry?"

The snow crunched beneath their boots as the X-Men plus one wizard headed to the open double doors of Bayville High. Harry shrugged at Kurt's teasing question; it was strange seeing the furry blue elf in his human form again.

That morning's drive to the school had been a rather sickening experience for the Boy-Who-Lived. First there was that stomach-wrenching twist of sick nervousness and excitement one got before their first day of school; then the nervous excitement had turned to nausea when his mind caught up with his subconscious and he remembered which school he certainly wasn't going to, making him feel dizzy and overwhelmed and heartsick, which didn't help the fact that he was also worried about hiding his lack of muggle knowledge; rage at his helplessness and inability to actually do anything about the situation; finally, piercing sorrow that dragged at his thoughts at the knowledge that at least HE would be seeing another day, while Ron and Hermoine and his Dragon were six feet underground.

By the end, Chatoyant had been loudly protesting in his thoughts.

"Hey, what are you thinking about, Harry?" Spike called back over his shoulder, turning slightly and walking backwards so that he was able to speak facing him.

Harry shrugged. "Everything in general."

Ororo's nephew grinned. "Have fun."

Oh yes. Lots.

The hallways were on the last verges of being emptied of students as they flowed like cattle into their classrooms, joined by the other members of the X-Men as they called their good-byes to each other until they met again at lunch.

"C'mon Harry, I'll take you to your class, since you have the same first period as me," Spike said cheerfully, waving to Kurt as he disappeared into his English classroom. "It's down this way."

The two walked in silence, seeing only the occasional student running to their class to try and avoid being tardy. Once, they nearly tripped over a couple making out against the lockers, ignoring the harsh ring of the late bell and the disgusted look mixed with exasperation from Spike.

"You'd think they'd have heard of the phrase 'private rooms' before," he muttered.

_what if we get caught_  
_  
then filch will probably see more action than he has in his entire life, love_

the well-known soft lips pressed against the skin of his throat, smiling in amusement and contentedness

that was low, draco

soft chuckles

a long, graceful finger brushed against his lips, effectively silencing him, only to be replaced by those same lips he so loved, the warm, gentle mouth he knew so well

you can't deny the truth, love

yes, but in your case, you can certainly twist it

more quiet laughter

i am a slytherin, you remember

the fingers that had touched his lips ever so briefly traced the outline of his collarbone, eventually beginning to slide lower to tease with the buttons with the light grace of a true artist

you should be banned from wearing leather; looking that sinfully gorgeous should be a crime

an amused snort

i would have thought you'd enjoy that, dragon

don't worry, i do, quite a bit actually...but do you realize how hard it is not to just walk over and push you up against a wall to have my wicked way with you in front of your friends

a cool hand slid beneath the silk of the green shirt to caress the scarred skin with a reverence that went beyond any mere lust or passing flight

besides, i highly doubt the gryffindors would appreciate seeing their precious, innocent, clueless boy-who-lived ravished by the dark and dreadful, not to mention sexy as all hell of course, evil slytherin

innocent...now there's a new one

a solemn silence pressed around them at the softly whispered comment, before being broken by the murmur of the same emerald-eyed lover

if evil looked like you, dragon, then suddenly it doesn't seem so bad

deep, purring moans that began far within his chest and swelled from his throat were caught by his silver dragon's willing mouth as his lover pressed firmly against him

quiet, barely heard whisper

you are mine, harry love, mine for eternity...just as i am yours

_no one will ever hurt you again_

Harry's thoughts were jarred back on track when Spike took an abrupt turn and entered a doorway into a classroom that went silent at their arrival.

"Heya, Miz Lyall, sorry we're late. Here's his admission slip from the office."

Harry watched from the doorway as Spike handed the World Studies teacher a little salmon-pink slip. Her bespectacled blue eyes reminded him somewhat of Professor Trelawney as they scanned the small slip, apparently for any sign of fabrication. Finally, she motioned for Spike to sit and for Harry to enter, frowning in obvious disapproval of his appearance and turning back to the class with a strange expression.

"Class, we have a newcomer."

The enthusiasm that greeted this was a little less than the kind shown for watching a pot boil over on the stove.

"Mr. Harry Potter, a new transfer student from England staying at the Institute."

There were a few more interested, if not malicious, looks thrown to the front of the room.

Harry automatically stiffened and his face smoothed under the scrutiny of some of what would become his new classmates. His eyes were narrowed, arms straight at his sides, and he glared back.

"Mr. Potter, please find a seat and sit down."

Harry could hear a slight coldness to the teacher's tone that puzzled him, as he certainly hadn't done anything wrong. Even he needed more than a minute and a half to make sufficiently amusing trouble in class. There was spot empty near the back, a few places directly back from Spike, and he slid into it without any comment.

The wary, if slightly frightened eyes of the World Studies teacher stared at him, then looked away.

Harry blinked, unknowingly imitating his familiar. What the hell was HER problem?

His gaze fell on Spike, whom he could see doodling skateboards in the margin of the paper.

Ah, of course.

He lived in the Institute, which automatically made him a mutant. So that was why the teacher had been less than friendly towards him.

If only anyone knew what he was really capable of.

"We shall continue our discussion on the mutant phenomenon," said the teacher, Ms. Lyall or something.

Mutant phenomenon? Should have just said 'infestation' and gotten it over with, he thought darkly.

Spike swore beneath his breath at the teacher.

**So she's a bitch** Chatoyant shrugged mentally in his mind. **Only human, after all.  
**  
Harry finally managed to tune out the heated debates of the class, slipping absently into a doze though his head was still raised.

_tell me, what is the difference between asphodel and wormwood  
_  
_i don't know, sir_

you're SO dead, potter

i'll believe it when i see it, ferret

you know, love, if I had known just how much you loved strawberries, I would have exploited that particular fetish long ago

pleasant laughter huffed softly in his ear, followed by a seductive hand that slipped beneath his cloak and stroked the skin just above his hip bone

now really, harry, i can't believe trelawney would swallow this, this rubbish of homework

_believe it, 'mione  
_  
"Mr. Potter!"

Harry's gaze moved to the teacher, though he didn't bother picking up his head from where it was supported on his arm.

"When we are having a class discussion, I expect everyone to participate. I don't know what it is like in England, but I assure you that here in America the students participate when required to do so."

He shrugged.

"Perhaps you would be so kind as to give us an opinion on mutants and normal people."

Harry could see the angry flush beneath Spike's dark skin as the skateboarder's fingernails dug into his palms from the grip.

Sitting up, Harry leaned his chair back and caught the eyes of the silent class.

"I think this is completely stupid."

The teacher raised an eyebrow. "If you don't want to - "

"I meant the so-called 'mutant problem'," he clarified sharply, cutting off the teacher's rebuke. "So what if some people are born with a different set of genes. They are still human."

Jean had explained the whole concept of the 'X gene' last Friday to him when he had asked why they were called the X-Men.

"But what if they use their powers for crimes?" countered a blonde girl snidely.

"What if people used their weapons for crimes? It's no different from a normal weapon or talent. Guns can be used for either the general good, or not; it all depends on the holder. But you don't restrict all people from guns, because not all of them would do that. So how can you lock up or segregate mutants when you know that not all of them would use their powers like that?"

"Of course you would think that, you're a mutant!" yelled a brunette male from the other side of the room.

Harry suddenly laughed, a sharp bark of noise that startled those around him. "Who ever said that I was a mutant?"

"You live at that Institute, don't you?"

Spike looked at him sharply. "But-"

"I told you what I was, but you didn't believe me," Harry muttered so that only Spike could hear. "But I am not a mutant." I'm not even completely human, he finished in his thoughts.

"Then what are you?"

Harry couldn't stoop the dark smirk spreading across his red-toned lips. "Your narrow little mind would never accept the truth, warped as it may be."

"But mutants are dangerous," protested another. "Some of them can kill with a mere thought, others with a simple touch. We have to know who they are, so the rest of us can protect ourselves."

Good argument, Harry allowed.

"The single most dangerous thing in this world," he said, "is not mutants, nor the criminals in jail, or the predators on the streets, or nuclear weapons. It is human fear that breeds hatred and prejudice, human fear against what is 'wrong' that prompts the rapists and murderers to engage in such crude acts, human fear against being helpless that spawns greed and malice and betrayal, human fear that procreates with pain to bear apathy and indifference.

"It isn't the mutants you should fear, but what a frightened creature is capable of."

From the disbelieving looks of the other students, Harry could tell this was going to be a very, very long day.

The vicious slamming of the locker door echoed in the crowded hallway.

"Whoa, Harry, you all right?" Kitty asked with a grin, leaning against the lockers to look at Harry. The wizard gave her a glare that warned her to back off.

"What happened?"

"Miz Lyall decided to talk about the 'mutant phenomenon' again," Spike groaned, rolling his eyes and shoving his books into his own locker. Kitty winced.

"Ooh, not good. Wonder what her problem is?"

"Us, obviously." Spike slung his nag over a shoulder.

The sophomore girl looked nervously at Harry. "You, like...you didn't...do anything, did you?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What is that supposed to mean?" he asked softly.

"Nothing, nothing," she said hurriedly. "What class do you have next?"

He glanced at his schedule, pausing. He'd never seen this on a class schedule, Muggle or otherwise. "What's 'P.E.'? 'Pet the Emu'?"

The other two stared at him in stunned surprise.

"You have to change, Harry," Kurt said as he glanced at the said person, his voice slightly muffled by the shirt he was pulling over his head. The newest student was standing in front of the P.E. lockers with a flat expression, holding his pile of clothes in such a way that made the German think that if they hadn't been clothes, they might have been several sacks of dead animals scraped off the side of the road.

Ew.

"Harry, I know you're probably uncomfortable changing in front of people," he said, voice dropping to a whisper that only the other could hear. "But if you don't, then Mr. Heskett will get angry."

A sneer appeared on those red lips.

Kurt hesitated in his motions, golden eyes scrutinizing the thin form. The muscle that showed beneath his shirt was tense, his posture stiff, which the elf could understand, but he was also making no move to do as advised.

Kurt had a flash of inspiration.

"Everyone else is changing. If you don't, it will call attention to yourself and may start rumors."

The vivid emerald eyes blinked slowly in comprehension. He glanced at Kurt from the corner of his eye. "Why do I get the feeling that you are saying that on purpose?"

Kurt put on his most innocent face, making his features look confused and politely puzzled. "Why ever would you think that?"

Harry snorted, but he unfolded the clothes anyway and stared at them for a moment.

"These are uglier than Luna's¹ dresses," he said under his breath. Kurt wasn't sure if he was talking to himself or not, but decided not to comment.

"C'mon, we're gonna be late!"

With a shrug, Harry waved a hand, and Kurt watched in stupefied fascination as the clothes Harry had been wearing morphed and changed to look exactly like the outdoor uniform. The only thing was different was the two black leather bands that covered his arms from the wrist to midway up his forearm and thick, Japanese-looking bracelets. The real uniform was dumped in a trashcan as he strode towards the door.

"How..."

"Magic."

Ah.

Of course.

Kurt followed Harry out the door, deep in thought. When Harry had changed his own clothes, he had felt that same sensation in his mind he had come to recognize as the equivalent to a neon sign screaming 'Mutant power over here!' But when Harry used his...powers...magic...whatever...he felt not the same firm nudge to his mind, but a more...flow-y kind of nudge, like water running over his thoughts, cool and alive. But what worried him was the fact that the water felt, dark, like the ocean under midnight heavens, calm to the casual observer but fairly writhing below, out of sight. It felt more powerful than any other he'd sensed before, but in a different way. It brought to mind the sharp scent of a breeze at night, the woody smell of a forest before a rain, the shocking cleanliness of a mountain stream. The strength of a wolf, the knowledge of an owl, the innocence of a young fawn, the secrets of an unknown universe.

Oh, this was SO confusing.

Fortunately, when he had let slip to the others on Wednesday about his sense, he had been able to bluff his way out of it. Somehow. But at least they didn't know. He'd been able to do it all his life, but it seemed to fluctuate unpredictably. Sometimes the nudge would be like a barely-heard whisper, and other times like a sledgehammer pounding away at the inside of his skull.

He wasn't sure he wanted anyone else to know.

"Like, Kurt, are you okay?"

Kurt looked up, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, to see Kitty peering into his eyes in concern. He smiled.

"I'm fine, Kitty! Why wouldn't I be?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, that's why I asked, silly."

"Now, we're going to take it easy this week and just play tennis in the gym, since it's been snowing," the teacher, Mr. Heskett, said in a loud voice. "We have a new student joining us today, Harry Potter, so make sure he feels welcome. Right, now go play!"

The P.E. classes were always the largest; instead of the normal thirty or so, there were fifty-two students, and Kurt decided that Harry was looking particularly uneasy. Especially since a few girls were giving him looks that were more than mere glances.

As Kitty went to grab them some rackets and a ball, Kurt made sure to keep close to Harry, as much for the black-haired youth's comfort as the safety of the others. Harry was known around the Institute to be somewhat high- strung, paranoid, and highly reflexive to any unexpected sounds or movements (things discovered with 'trial and error').

But these people didn't know that.

A while later found the three being joined by a friend of Kitty's, a giggly girl named Taylor that was disturbingly similar to Kitty in speech and mannerisms. The two girls had teamed up so that they faced Harry and Kurt as opponents to form a complete game.

"Hold the racket, like so..."

Kurt couldn't believe that Harry had never played before, but because of that he was busy explaining the finer points of playing when a girl came up unnoticed.

"Hey Harry, my name's Kayleigh."

Both looked around to find the girl standing coyly, blonde bangs falling over into her eyes as she looked up from beneath her eyelashes.

Harry didn't answer.

Kurt was mentally cursing God for not providing this girl with the sense to leave them alone.

"So how are you liking America? Are you having fun here?"

"Yes." Kurt doubted she could hear the lie and the plea for her to disappear in his monotone voice.

"You know, I bet you haven't really had the chance to do anything really fun. Wanna go to the dance with me on Friday?"

She had stepped closer so that she was only about two feet away.

Can't she see how tense he's getting? Kurt wondered to himself. While ordinarily he would be cheering anybody on at this point, he knew that Harry was growing uncomfortable. After living the way he had, the elf had learned to become incredibly adept at reading people and their body language; words and tone could lie, but only a very skilled person could lie believably with their body.

Besides, if he remembered what Harry had told them yesterday correctly, his heart, body, and soul already belonged to someone else.

A male someone else.

"I don't think - " he began, being cut off by the girl.

"Please? I would love to get to know you better, and I could show you around and stuff."

That was when she made her mistake.

She stepped even closer, and grasped his bicep with one hand while the other reached out to trace the faint scar running over his cheekbone.

"I'd like to get you know you better."

Harry made a strange sound in the back of his throat and pushed her violently, sending her sprawling to the floor of the gym. He took a step back, snarling.

"Don't. Touch. Me."

Several of the girl's friends rushed over, fussing and worrying over the surprised student. The teacher hurried to their side and sent her to the office before turning to Harry and Kurt, obviously bemused and angry.

"What happened?"

When it was apparent that the other wasn't going to answer, Kurt volunteered. "She was...coming on a bit strong." He glanced out the corner of his eye, watching Harry staring down at the pavement and rubbing at his arms as though trying to rid himself of the girl's highly unwelcome contact. "He doesn't like to be touched."

The teacher looked skeptical, but let Harry off with only a warning.

For the rest of the school day, Kurt kept a careful eye on the enigmatic Harry. He was refusing to speak at all, and would periodically rub his arms to dispel the phantom caress.

After school, Kurt quietly informed his adopted sister, Rogue, of the seemingly minor incident, and the two made sure to stay close to Harry. Kitty had decided to go shopping with some friends, and Spike had already disappeared, most likely to the local skate park, which left the three of them walking down the steps in a strange, mocking parody of what had once been the famous Gryffindor Trio.

"That slut," Rogue said from the corner of her mouth to Kurt. "If I ever touch her, Kurt, then shoot me and put me out of my misery."

"Heya, babe," a voice called loudly, and the goth ducked instinctively as a shadow leapt over her head.

"Dammit, Toad!"

"What are you guys doing here?" Kurt demanded.

Lance grinned. "Last time I checked, elf, this was a public school. Besides, we had to check out the newest addition to Xavier's impression of the Brady Bunch."

Blob laughed.

"Where's Pietro?"

"Busy hashing it out with his sister. There's only so much you can take watching him fly into a wall before you decide to find more amusing entertainment."

"Get lost, loser," Rogue drawled, rolling her eyes.

"Aw, c'mon, let's just put on a little show, for the newbie."

The ground began moving, more and more violently, until it suddenly broke at Lance's feet and a fissure began running through the ground towards the trio, surrounding them with the sounds of rocks splitting and breaking like harsh gunshots. Without a second thought, Kurt grabbed Rogue's hand and Harry's wrist and teleported about twenty feet away, away from the gaping fault in the pavement.

"Quit it, Lance!" Rogue growled. "We are NOT in the mood for this today!"

"Aw, but we're bored!" groused Toad, who leapt at Kurt and sent the two of them rolling backwards head over heels, grappling for dominance like two alpha males over territory.

Kurt snarled, his lips pulled away from his ivory fangs and golden irises glittering dangerously dark in rage. The sharp nails on his long fingers scored deeply across the other mutant's cheek, eliciting a yelp of pain.

Apparently, Toad had managed to turn off the holowatch.

And in public, too.

Damn amphibian!

"Gotcha, ya little bastard!"

The German stopped in bewilderment, chest heaving, as Toad's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell against the elf with a sigh. Kurt glanced up from beneath the dead weight and found his sister grinning at him, one hand bared from its normal covering. She slipped it back on and helped Kurt to his feet.

The ground shook again violently, nearly making them fall.

"Where's Harry?" he asked frantically.

"Behind ya, stupid," Rogue snorted.

Harry was on one knee, bracing himself against the ground so as not to fall. Lance had his right arm outstretched, eyes unfocused in concentration. Blob was currently heading full tilt towards the crouched teenager.

Kurt tensed himself, ready to teleport Harry away, but paused when Harry flung out a hand.

"Stupefy!"

Lance's body seemed to seize up, and toppled to the ground, stiff and unmoving.

With the ground now stationary, Harry leapt up and sidestepped the large bulk of Blob, turning quickly and barking out another word with a grin.

"Tarantellegra!"

The siblings watched in stunned confusion as the gigantic mutant stopped in his tracks and...

...danced.

His feet moved in a nauseating blur in a complicated step rather like a cross between swing and tap, made all the more interesting by the furious bellows rumbling from his large chest.

"AH! WHY CAN'T I STOP!"

Kurt was leaning against Rogue for support as he laughed helplessly, tears streaming from his eyes. He could feel her shaking from holding back her own laughter.

A small smile played about Harry's lips, but his eyes didn't reflect his apparent amusement.

Not that anyone noticed, in their state.

Finally, though, Harry waved a hand. "Finite Incantatem."

Blob stopped prancing about wildly, and Lance groaned from where his face was pressed into the pavement.

"W-What are you?" the giant stammered.

"Not someone to be crossed."

Kurt sighed mentally at the coldness in the British voice. Now they back at where they started before the Brotherhood showed up.

"C'mon, you two," Rogue finally said, businesslike, as she grabbed a hold on Kurt and dragged him over to Harry.

"Bamf us back ta the Institute."

Kurt nodded, this time pausing for Harry's permission before taking a hold of his wrist again. Harry hesitated, then nodded slowly, allowing Kurt to grasp his limb loosely and teleport them back to the Institute.

Harry fell on all fours, hyperventilating and fighting to urge to be sick all over the floor.

He blinked. He hadn't realized teleporting was so much different from Apparating; perhaps that was why the entrance hall was spinning slightly. Next time, he'd stick to magic.

His skin still crawled.

To be touched like that...

It hadn't been so bad having Kurt hold his wrist; there was a reason for the contact, his permission had been given first, the privilege had not been abused, and he had been released almost immediately afterwards.

But that stupid bitch...he could tell immediately that she didn't have any true interest in him.

The person who had given him the scar had stroked it in the exact same manner she had.

The greatest lesson he'd ever had in betrayal.

And that teleportation trip had, for some reason, not reacted well with his system...

"Harry, you all right?"

_Of course I am, Kurt,_ Harry thought sarcastically. _I'm just fine; can't you tell that from my weak, gasping body straining not to collapse here on the floor?_ He forced himself to stand, however, swaying a bit but remaining upright.

"I'm fine. Just nauseous."

Kurt scratched his head. "That's strange. I don't think anybody's been sick after I bamfed them."

Harry shrugged, deciding to follow Rogue to the kitchen instead of trying to hurt his brain by thinking about the mystery too much.

"Boom-Boom!"

Harry started as Kurt bounded forward past him like a blue cannonball, throwing his arms around a tall, thin blonde girl that had been previously dancing around the kitchen before being glomped by a furry growth with a madly waving tail.

"Heya, Kurt! Loosen up a bit, you'll suffocate me. And this Institute wouldn't survive without me, right?" Her teasing tone was accompanied by a grin and a wink. Her bright blue eyes caught sight of Harry.

"So, who's Mr. Dark and Mysterious?" she asked flippantly. Kurt visibly rolled his eyes.

"Boom-Boom, meet Harry Potter. Harry, this is Tabitha, but we all call her Boom-Boom." He dropped his voice to a stage whisper. "She loves blowing things up."

"Hey!" she protested indignantly, looking righteously wounded. "That's not true! I just add a bit of spice to life, that's all. No need going around and spreading rumors about me, I just do it to help you guys out in your boring existence."

Despite himself, Harry had to fight back a small smile. She reminded him remarkably of Seamus Finnigan. She was of average height, thin, and carried herself in such a way that spoke of a confidence that may come across as being overbearing, but her features were open enough and her eyes welcome.

Nevertheless...

Carefully concealing his actions, Harry released small tendrils of magic, letting them wind their way outwards towards Tabitha's aura and discretely yet unobtrusively prodding at the soft sun-colored miasma.

It felt warm and friendly, despite an undercurrent of sorrow that nearly eluded his notice.

"So, has the poor guy been subjected to Logan's whim in the danger room?" she asked, untangling herself from the elf and sashaying back towards to the fridge to root around.

"Not yet," Kurt answered, perching cat-like on a bar stool.

"Danger room?" Harry echoed, confused.

"The danger room is where the X-Men train," Rogue answered from her position of leaning against the doorway and subjecting Tabitha to dark glares. "You know Logan - the big guy - he makes us spend time in there every day to keep us in shape."

"Even though the Brotherhood doesn't really exist anymore and Magneto's dead," Tabitha muttered.

Harry made a mental note to find more in-depth information these names he kept hearing about. He knew that there had been a large group of mutants called the Brotherhood led by Magneto that were against humans, but that was about the extent of his knowledge.

"So why you back this time?" Rogue asked, borderline rude.

"My dear father got himself thrown into prison for a seven-year sentence," she replied cheerfully enough, balancing a plate on one hand and a sandwich in the other. "Mom can't take care of me, so here I am. Happy?"

The enmity between the two was obvious to even the most stupid of observer.

"Well," Kurt said loudly, clapping his hands together and leaping from the stool to the counter. "I think we should ask the professor about it. What do you think, Harry? Want to try it?"

_Sounds interesting enough_, the wizard thought to himself. It would be a good way to keep myself conditioned, just in case, without being surprised or accidentally hurting someone. And it isn't like I have anything else to do. After all, why would a fallen angel try to return to hell?

_you look like an angel, love_

a dark angel, whose wings had been clipped still as a child

"Sure," Harry said softly, shrugging carelessly. "I wouldn't mind trying it."

Kurt turned back to conversing with Tabitha after giving him a broad smile, while Rogue left abruptly presumably so that she wouldn't have to deal with the returned mutant.

Harry turned to go to his room when his thoughts took a sharp turn from their path.

:Such weak creatures.:

What?

Harry whirled around, fully expecting to see one of the psychic mutants standing behind him with a grin, but the hallway was deserted. Only a painted portrait returned his stare, unnervingly still in its non-magical frame.

:They are nothing, only freaks of nature, strange parodies of what they could have been.:

Who are you? Harry mentally shouted furiously, suppressing his rising panic.

:Look at them; they are still bound to the cold soil of this pathetic ball of a planet, their sight blinded to the true nature of humankind.:

What are you talking about?

:They are inferior, filthy things, a disgusting parasite of flesh and blood bound by no more than a thin layer of external epidermis and prisoner to their weak emotions.:

WHO ARE YOU? GET THE BLOODY FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!

Low, rumbling laughter, an amused growl that made Harry's blood turn to icy shards in his veins. :It seems I cannot fool you. Surely you haven't forgotten me already, Harry? Dumbledore's clichéd Golden Boy and the wizarding world's beloved murderer of a savior, the Boy-Who-Lived:

Blindly, Harry sank to his knees, wide horrified green eyes staring ahead into empty space. His fingers lay limp against his black-clad thighs, his body shook violently.

No...

:We're too much a part of each other, Harry Potter, to ever be separate completely. But alas, only one of us can live on. Did you _really_ believe that you had destroyed me? Life is an irony, boy, a cruel stage of puppets, God's little comedy of errors; to truly appreciate life we must recognize this. And do you want to hear a joke, Harry, a joke that seems as impossible as any other but more real than any existence:

:I can never die; I am a part of you.:

Scott watched one of the younger mutants, a tiny Russian boy with the classic name of Ivan and the power to control electronics, flip rapidly through the channels with moving a muscle. It was a bit disconcerting; but then again, so was having photon beams shooting from your eyes. So he refrained from comment, even though the quick succession of moving pictures was beginning to give him a headache and destroy his concentration on his book. He manfully suppressed the urge to swat the kid upside the head.

The channels stopped.

'Thank GOD. Now I won't have to hide any bodies.'

"...mutant phenomenon. We go live to Jim Vanderzuan, who has the latest from Capitol Hill."

"Thanks, Katie. I'm here with Senator Keverline on the steps of the White House after a meeting of the Senate. Senator, what has been decided thus far?"

"I am quite sorry, young man, but I cannot say anything at this moment. There will be a live broadcast of the president's speech concerning the mutant phenomenon later this evening, so I would suggest listening then. I apologize, but I am bound by honor not to reveal anything until I am given leave to do so. However, I can say that this problem will be resolved within the very near future."

The reporter looked faintly disappointed. "Yes sir, Senator. Now, there have been rumors that some of the Senators are being bribed and/or blackmailed into making one move or the other. Is this true?"

"Of course not. My companions in the House are some of the greatest people I've ever had the honor of knowing. To even suggest that bribery is in use amongst them is an insult not only to their person, but an outrage against the integrity of this nation."

"Uh, yes, thank you, Senator Keverline. Back to you, Katie, in the studio."

"Thank you, Rob. You heard it, tune in at nine o'clock eastern time to hear the president's address to the nation, and what we will do concerning the mutants."

"On to other news..."

Scott barely registered the change in topic, too furious to hear the report of a supposed UFO sighting over an outhouse in southern Alabama. His hands clenched the armrests until his knuckles turned white.

We are NOT animals! he seethed. Why do they treat us like that?

Even though Scott knew Magneto was wrong, there were times where he would lay awake in bed at night, staring up at the ceiling, wondering what would have happened had he and his brother Alex actually managed to adapt to the powerful mutant's gift of being 'evolved'. It had been wonderful to not wear his shades and still open his eyes without having to worry if he was going to end up killing someone by accident.

But that had come at the price of nearly losing Jean.

He would never allow that to happen.

Scott stared through the glass pane of the window into the snow-covered lawn outside, watching a small bird scratch hopefully at the ground in the hopes of finding a meal.

Jean...

The gorgeous, levelheaded, loving, playful woman he'd found he loved with all his heart when he nearly lost her in the final confrontation between the X- Men and Brotherhood. She was patient and kind and understanding, proud and courageous and loyal to a fault; she was everything he had ever wanted or needed, and he'd be damned if he let the prejudice of others take her away and destroy her beautiful spirit.

Scott thought back on Harry. He would never let his beloved Red become broken and distrustful and tortured by ignorant people like the wreck of a teenager they'd acquired less than a month ago.

He swore to himself that whatever happened, whatever future may befall them, whatever prison they would be forced into or battles they had to fight, he would never leave her side unless she wished it.

No one would ever dare try to hurt her.

1: Luna Lovegood, of course. I figured her sense of dress was a bit... unorthodox, if not downright ugly as butt. Hence the comparison.

Uh...yeah...wasn't sure how to finish it. I don't particularly like Scott or Jean (all about the Wolverine yah baby!), but hey, at least they aren't as bad as Kitty shudders. They remind me a bit of Hermoine and Ron.

I feel so bad...I seriously hate having killed off Draco, but it was necessary.

Wonder how obvious the voice was...

Next time, we find out what's going on with the Queens, and the danger room gets its first run-in with a magic-wielder. grins Oh how much FUN!

Thank you to the following:

**MaraWeaves**: Thank you. I will be eventually letting him get friends again, though the way that I go about this a lot of people might not like. The others will be getting a shock about his personality around chapter 12.

**Hittocerebattosai: **I'm glad that you're enjoying this as much as I am… And ya, Poor Harry was late, not that that really affected him, what with him being Mr. Let's-Skip-Class…

**GreyGryph:** Ya. I wish I _could_ take the credit, but oh well…

**Wolfbear: **I know a lot about the X-Men, _except _for the Queens… They're not going to last long, b/c I can't find anything about them to help me. To tell you the truth, I was a little lost at the end myself… I will try to change it to where everyone can sorta understand what's going on… Not that I have much hope to succeed…

**Darkchildlover: **Ya, Hades' said that she (or he I can't tell by the style…) was regretting putting Cat in there, but I think she's funny. A perfect example of what I think Harry really is like deep down…

Tmctflyboy: I'm a huge fan of H/D, so when Hades' said in her chapter 11, that she would have eventually brought Draco back, I was upset. You can't have a good angst story if you bring the dead one back… You just can't do it. But no, I'm NOT bringing Dray back, so you don't have to worry about that. 

**Hpcoldfire:** You should have seen my reaction when I read that Hades' was quitting. I had been following it since chapter 2 very faithfully, so I too was devastated to see Hades' quit. Though I hope that I can do this story justice. We'll see…

**A-Brighter-Dawn: **I'm not really sure whether he will have a happy or sad ending… I'm still in the mentally torture Harry stage. And I hope that the ending will be a long time away…


	8. Voodoo Child

I'm looking for any suggestions of Harry's "X-Men Name". I suppose I had better choose one, but I want to know what you all think about it. Honestly, should he even have one? After all, there ARE mutants that don't have them, and he isn't a mutant, really...

You know, I'm starting to wonder if Chatoyant was really such a good idea.

Hedwig isn't in this chapter. I forgot where she is. ;

This switches a lot between Harry's POV and the X-Men POV. Just to let you know.

_words in italics without proper capitalization_--past memories.

**Words in bold**--mental speech between Harry and Chatoyant.

_Other phrases in Italics_--Harry's thoughts.

blah--Harry replying to the voice in his head

:blah:--The voice replying to Harry

Look at all the pretty puppets

Dancing on their silky strings

Painted faces

Leering, sneering

Look at me, I'm a freak

A black stone in the crystal shard

Look at me, you cold stone statue

Stare like I'm a fucking beast

Go ahead, see the difference

Between your painted face

And mine

You, the false smiles, fake psyche

A screaming parody

But the freak

The freak is me

The freak is true

Reflection of the rotting, dripping nature

I see the poison in your words, the bittersweet smile

You see only a shadow to be mocked

A thing to be beaten and forgotten

You see the world as a blind child

But the innocence has been eaten away

Shatter, shatter

See the mirror break

Is it still pretty?

Still real, still whole?

The mask is flawed in its beauty

And will gradually crack

But who will pick up the pieces

Not me, not I

The beast laughs

And then when you look at me

With cracked doll's eyes and

A split skull

And you'll know that of us two

The true beast is

You.

- A Friend Who Wishes to Remain Anonymous

**Do you think this will be enough, Chatoyant?**

I do not know. We can only hope.

I stopped doing that long ago. 

Shallow breaths pulled themselves from a wearied chest; minute pearls of sweat and tears fell. Hands that dug into the fur of a large dark wolf shook almost imperceptibly.

**I can't let him free. I can't let him take control again. I don't want to hurt anyone anymore.**

I know.

How can I do this? How am I supposed to keep going?

Hope.

I told you, I stopped doing that long ago. Besides, hope was what destroyed them.

No, fate destroyed them. Hope saved them.

He won't stay bound for long. He will fight, and more will die.

A wet nose nudged a tearful face.  
**  
Why, Chatoyant? Why doesn't it ever end? Am I truly a damned soul?**

You were sent to be the people's hero. You were created to be their salvation. 

Shuddering breaths.  
**  
Who will save me? Who will save a fallen angel whose lost his wings? Dragon is gone from us.**

Remember, when the head of the monstrous Gorgon Medusa was severed, the winged star of the heavens was granted its freedom.

But that freedom was paid with the price of blood.  


"Are you sure this is a good idea, Charles?"

Xavier glanced sideways at the speaker. "Yes, Logan, I do," he said after a moment. "He has a good heart."

Logan snorted something beneath his breath that sounded strangely like 'matter of opinion'.

The two were currently residing in the observation deck above the danger room, joined by Kurt, Ororo, Forge, and Jean. While the rest watched, Forge was busy at the main console of the great computer and fiddling with the controls in a sequence none besides himself really understood.

"Strange outfit," Jean observed. "Where do you think he got it?"

"His home, no doubt," Ororo replied.

Down below them, Harry stood in the clothes that designated his rank, simple yet elegant; black dragon-hide pants spelled to be durable and unrestricting, belted with a questionable length of thick, heavy black leather; a blood-red loose, sleeveless tunic, and an outer robe designed to be left undone and created with battle in mind. Chatoyant was perched on his shoulder in the guise of a red-tailed hawk, her sharp eyes wary and unnervingly knowing.

**I feel strange without my wand,** Harry mind-spoke to Chatoyant, otherwise completely at home in the guise of a Dark Sorcerer. She dipped her head in agreement.

**Pity there isn't a local Ollivander's nearby. Or some randomly convenient phoenix feathers and wand-wood trees. That would be nice.**

Harry huffed quietly in laughter.

**No magic, though, otherwise that'll make it too easy with these Muggle electronics. And it will tempt him. **

Xavier's voice crackled over the intercom set into the wall just above his head.

"Are you ready to begin the simulation, Harry?"

"Yes."

"Should you feel overwhelmed, give the signal and we will stop, all right?"

Harry mentally rolled his eyes. Overwhelmed? By a simulation?

Please.

"Fine."

The steely gray walls of the simulation room seemed to waver rather like a waking dream, as though they were unsure of themselves; Harry watched in concealed astonishment as a vast, deserted plain of rocks and cliffs replaced the previously sterile room.

**Whoa. Talk about a virtual reality.** Her normally nonchalant voice was a bit more subdued than usual.

Harry ignored her, instead struggling to focus on his surroundings. Despite his extensive training, however, this was proving to be difficult; his skin still crawled at odd intervals, and whenever he blinked the backs of his eyelids turned into a split-second movie screen of things he would far prefer to forget.

But for now, at least, the unwanted presence in his mind had retreated.

**Chatoyant?**

Yes?

**If something goes wrong, I want you to immediately cut off our link, overload my magic, and then explain what's going on to the others.**

Even though her distaste at the possibility of having to talk aloud to semi- strangers was very obvious, she also knew the extremity of the situation. She agreed, albeit reluctantly.

Harry mentally ran a check through the miniature armory he was carrying, a habit drilled into him by Sirius, his ever-paranoid godfather.

_i've lost everything else, harry, i won't lose you too  
_  
The false convict, while drastically changed in Azkaban, had become a broken, reckless, vengeance-ridden warrior when he saw what the Deatheaters had done to his beloved Moony.

To put it in generalized terms, silver and werewolves do not mix.

At all.

Anger surged hot and passionate when he thought about the mangled, defiled corpse barely recognizable as the calm, serene, yet powerful man that had first taught Harry how to defend himself against the hated Dementors.

**Harry! Pay attention.**

The young man took a breath, struggling to calm his unpredictable ire. He closed his eyes, releasing the indrawn breath, and opened them again, feeling calmer than he had in many a long while now that he was presented with a faceless, past-less and consequence-less battle, a chance to escape and blank his mind if only for a few hours.

Xavier's voice startled him.

"Harry, we are going to start with a Level One simulation, if just to provide a warm-up for you. Your opponents will be programmed with only the basics of fighting skills, so elimination is unnecessary. Defeat is enough. We will keep advancing levels until you can longer handle it, upon which you say so. All right?"

So, he doesn't want me to kill any of these 'opponents'.

"Yes."

"All right. Then... three, two, one..."

Almost at once, a strange, mutated creature leapt out from behind a boulder and lunged at Harry, long fangs bared and dripping strings of saliva. Powerful muscles flexed beneath tawny fur as enormous rending claws ripped grooves into the ground with the sheer amount of force.

**Oh puh-leese. **

Sneering as well as a hawk could, Chatoyant took flight, instead perching on a rock and content to let her human take on the beast alone.

When a Hellcat-sized paw struck out for is face, Harry sidestepped it and let the flat of his sword smack the creature across the eyes, blinding it and causing it to fall back with a piercing shriek of animal pain.

A shadow caught his attention, and he ducked instinctively as a sword similar to his own swept by a few mere inches from his head. He whirled around in the same movement, letting his own weapon swing upwards and dislodge the other's from its humanoid hand. A smart rap between the eyes made the shadowy human fall in a crumpled unconscious heap on the ground.

_I won't kill anyone else. I've taken too many lives already._

Six more opponents were created and sent after him, but Harry was ale to dispatch them easily enough, without magic.

"Charles, is he using any of his powers?" Ororo asked, watching the young man move gracefully in the midst of a group of attackers with seemingly no effort on his part.

Xavier shook his head, expression thoughtful. "No, not that I can tell. It seems to be solely physical skill."

"Damn," Logan growled. "I wonder if the kid knows how to spar."

"I would wait till another time before doing so," Xavier said with a small chuckle. "First, we must determine his level of skill." He pushed a button on the console, activating the loudspeaker. "Harry, we're going to advance you another level. Be ready."

Harry sighed dramatically, already a bit bored. Level Two, while possessing more creativity than the first, was hardly any better.

A thin steel pin from a bracelet placed in the correct location sent a black-clad faceless form slumping unconscious to the ground.

These were little more challenging than a goblin, and goblins were pretty bad warriors. (Battles were risky for the income, you see-the results were too unpredictable).

**Sing a song of sixpence...**

"Can't you think of a more appropriate song, Cat?" Harry asked aloud to his lounging familiar.

**Here comes a candle to light your way to bed, and here comes a chopper to chop off your head...**

"Try again," he retorted, grimacing at the words. She threw her head back and opened wide her sharp beak, mimicking a singer.

**OOOOHHH-what do you do with a drunken sailor, what do you do with a drunken sailor...! **

Harry laughed, stunning another with a quick bit of force on a pressure point.

**Shave his chest with a rusty razor, shave his chest with a rusty razor...**

With the introduction of Level Three, Harry blinked as he was forced to duck a powerful roundhouse kick.

**Put him in the bed with the captain's daughter, put him in the bed with the captain's daughter...**

Perhaps this Level would provide more challenge.

He grinned darkly.

"Forge, how high do you think he can go?" Kurt asked curiously, his attention split between observing Harry and staring at the console that proudly displayed Level Four, about a third of the way up the chart.

"Quite frankly, man, I'm not sure I wanna find out."

A sword went flying awry, landing some ways away and raising a great cloud of dust. The ground shuddered and groaned, writhing like the flesh of some great leviathan, and the air was heavy with charged action.

Level Six. Xavier had decided to change the opponents from mere human fighters and creatures to mutants, with a wide arsenal of talents and skills and appearances. The outer robe of a Dark Sorcerer had been discarded long ago, growing too warm to wear and Harry, on his no-magic campaign, had not wanted to cast a Cooling Charm for fear of resurrecting the currently silent intruder in his mind.

The young man performed a handspring to avoid the low, sweeping blade of an opponent, landing lightly on his feet and leaping forwards again to let his own sword slide with a wet resistance into the left shoulder. A sharp cry, and the mutant staggered back to be replaced by the equivalent of a fire elemental.

**Pyrokinetic,** Chatoyant supplied rather uselessly.

A shapeshifter screeched, enormous hawk-like talons spread and aimed for his throat as she dived sharply, but his familiar quickly and efficiently dispatched her.

**Behind you, hon.  
**  
Harry turned on his heel, withdrawing his sword from the mutant's shoulder while nearly simultaneously moving it in an arc upwards to clash with the purely energy sword of yet another opponent.

Several attackers were still moving in an offensive way; the remaining score or so were on the ground unconscious or rendered useless from their inflicted wounds.

There was a suddenly fiery, agonizing pain in his side.

Unnoticed, a small female mutant had managed to slip past his defenses and release a tiny dart Harry sensed was empowered with a destructive force of the mutant's creation. He didn't bother to waste his breath with a muttered curse, and instead turned his attention to her.

:Oh, Harry, you wouldn't let her get away with that, now would you:

No...

Leave me, Tom. You should be dead!

A harsh laugh. :I had hoped that the boy who defeated me would have been at least of some intelligence; do you not remember what I said:

I remember.

The thin sword was brought up in an offensive motion to deflect an attack.

:Then you would know that only your death could truly have any lasting effect on my power; I cannot die, boy, no matter what.:

Every creation has a flaw, Tom.

:But not everything is merely created, is it:

What?

More low chuckles. :It is not 'created' if it just 'Is'. My power was not created, merely garnered into my own powerful body. If it had no creator, boy, then it cannot be destroyed.:

That doesn't even make sense!

A feeling of amusement was his only reply; otherwise, the voice fell silent.

Furiously, Harry hacked at a halberd threatening to cleave him in half.

_fifth year_

harry could feel the man's blood beneath his fangs

arthur weasley sank against the wall, the poison already invading his body

i dared not look you in the eye, harry; I was too afraid of seeing the dark lord staring back at me  
  
Why can't you ever let me be!

:Every hero needs a villain, Harry. I'm just making your part easier. The audience loves it when a hero falls.:

Fuck you! You know I never wanted my fame! Especially when the cost is having YOU ruin my life at every possible turn!

:You wound me. Besides, it wasn't all my work.:

Harry's lips pulled back in a sneer, accidentally adding more force than was necessary to his strike and severing the arm of an opponent. The iron grip on his magic was loosening.

:Temper, temper.:

Chatoyant screeched in animal rage, responding to her human's sentiments.

"Um, professor, is it just me, or is he getting more violent?" Kurt's golden eyes were wide in astonishment.

Xavier didn't answer; his eyes were closed in concentration.

"Something's affecting Harry's emotions, but I do not know what. His anger is drastically increasing."

The dark boy was moving with more force and deadly intent than before. Where before he would have only rendered them unconscious or useless, he was now drawing blood. In large amounts.

"Forge, stop the simulation. I must speak with him."

"Yes sir." Immediately the scientific genius began, his hands moving in a skilful dance of intricate movements over the various controls. The serious expression on his face soon turned to bemused alarm.

"Uh, professor, about turning off the simulator... I can't."

"Can you determine why?"

"The only plausible excuse would be an outside stimulus or viral intruder, but both would be nearly impossible without earlier detection by my sentinel programs." One way for anyone to tell when Forge was worried was when he ceased speaking in heavy seventies' slang.

"I want you to try and figure it out as soon as possible."

In reply, the mutant's hand suddenly morphed, the flesh becoming stainless surgical steel and the tendons powerful wires.

Kurt got the creeps every time he witnessed the change of the otherwise perfectly normal hand. It reminded him of the movie "Terminator" with frightening accuracy.

Jean abruptly cried out in horror.

Down below on the desert landscape and beneath the silent gaze of the wizard, lay a still body in a swiftly spreading stain of brilliant scarlet. Its head had come to rest near its feet.

Harry's sword was dark with oozing, swiftly coagulating blood, a look of stunned agony on his face.

"Logan, Storm, come with me. I want Jean, Kurt, and Forge to remain here."

The three older mutants immediately left the observation deck and entered the danger room proper, the holographic gravel and sand crunching beneath their boots - or, in the case of the professor, beneath his wheels.

"Don't come any closer," Harry said sharply in a faint voice. His emerald eyes, slightly glazed over, hadn't moved from the dead cadaver.

"What's going on, kid?" Logan demanded with a snarl, ignoring the warning look from Storm, though the three did as he commanded.

"I killed again, after I promised I wouldn't," he whispered. "Why?" He paused, then suddenly burst out with a piercing cry and cradling his skull in his hands. "NO! Shut up, you're wrong!"

"Is this guy nuts?" Logan muttered, low enough so that only the two other mutants could hear him.

"NO, DON'T!"

The sunny, sandy desert disappeared in a wavering flicker, melting surreally to reveal a great landscape; green, well-tended lawns stretched in front of them from beneath their feet. To the left and curving in an encompassing grip was a dark tangled-looking forest, while to the right yawned an enormous castle, its turrets and battlements reaching longingly for the sky like a lonely, bereft lover. In front of them, shining with the fading redness of a falling sun, was a lake awash in evening color.

Harry choked like a dying animal.

The lonely, beautiful picture flickered once again back to the original desert of the previous simulation, and then back to the ancient castle and its grounds.

"What's going on?" Storm asked, her hands already beginning to gather power for an attack.

The nameless changeling animal screeched, her feathered body twisting into the shape of a terrifying skeleton, equestrian in shape and its scapulas supporting heavy black wings.¹ Sharp ebony hooves struck the turf as it danced in panic, the endless black eyes seeming to roll in their sockets.

Forge, have you fixed it yet?

Not yet, professor. There's something messing with the coils.

Please try to hurry.

The psychic could hear Harry's panicked hyperventilating breaths and wildly streaming thoughts, mutely screaming to know what was going on and for someone named Chatoyant to stop the influx of magic, as well as damning another named Tom Riddle to the lowest depths of hell.

As they watched, the castle to their right seemed to decay in the span of a few minutes, like a tape on fast-forward. Towers crumbled, roofs collapsed, and screams echoed spectrally. The grass beneath their feet deadened, wilting and falling to dusty gray ash, as the trees in the forest howled and moaned and waved their branches in a way that let them know that wind was not the cause of their grief; animals screeched, and a large tawny wolf suddenly appeared, snarling and spitting with glowing amber eyes.

Logan immediately snarled right back, his own claws shooting forward from his knuckles, and he crouched into a defensive position. As the wolf leapt at him, he slashed upwards... only to find that he met no resistance as the wolf went right through him.

"What..."

He whirled around in time to see the wolf pull down a tall, hooded figure with a white mask.

A brilliant green light, as deep and mesmerizing as Harry's eyes, streaked past and struck another of the hooded people as soon as it had appeared. As they watched, the grounds of the now destroyed castle quickly became filled with people and creatures fighting. As the mutants watched, their attention was soon fixed on the only person that they recognized. Harry, or what they could now see was a younger version of the Harry in the room, stood with his back to an older man with shoulder length black hair. To the mutant's disbelieving eyes, Harry and just about everyone in the vision were using wands like you would hear about in a fairy tale. They stood in shock as the quiet, and most of the time paranoid, teenager that they were use to, seemed to be killing any of the figures with the white mask.

Logan gave a glance at the real Harry only to find that the boy was kneeing on the ground clutching his head as if to hide from what was going on around him.

"Charles, what is wrong with the simulator?" Storm demanded, hovering a few feet above the ground and her hands curled into claws to hold the lightning that was flashing in their grip.

The professor didn't answer; his eyes were shut tightly in concentration and his fingers supported his temples.

Harry?

LEAVE ME

Harry, what is going on?

I don't...it's him, he's alive, he's back, he's here...

Who, Harry?

Xavier stiffened at the low, serpentine laughter that resounded along the connection between him and the boy.

:Hello, Charles Xavier.:

The powerful psychic could clearly feel the malice and insanity from the new presence.

Who are you?

:Surely you've heard my mention in the thoughts you've gleaned from my child?²:

I had assumed you were dead, judging from Harry's dreams.

:Yes, that seems to be many people's opinion. I must admit that it really is incredible, a young, broken little toy like this one having enough magic to rival mine.:

LEAVE ME, TOM! Harry's mental intrusion was forceful and enraged, if not a little fearful and desperate.

:As you wish, my dear boy². I have accomplished what I wanted, for now.:

Charles was thrown out of Harry's head with enough force to make him reel in his chair.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, thank you Storm," he breathed, staring at the wizard kneeling on all fours in the now-steel floor, shaking.

"What was happening with the simulator?"

"It seems Harry's claims are true, magic is indeed his power. But...there appears to be someone else, influencing his actions and control. I would guess that is the reason he is so prone to extreme reactions."

He stopped speaking when Harry managed to pull himself upright, the hand holding the sword visibly shaking.

"That's nothing," he muttered, barely noticing the tiny sparrow that alighted delicately on his shoulder. "This has happened before."

"This?"

"Our sharing minds, consciousness." He gave them an inscrutable look from beneath his bangs, green eyes suspiciously bright, before he looked away.

"Though I wish that he had forced out some other memory than the last battle." With that, Harry turned his back completely on them, seeming to be studying the carnage that surrounded them.

"Bloody fuck!" Behind him, a steel machine exploded.

"We will have to do something, Harry," Xavier said gently. "I can feel already that the Queens are planning something, but I don't yet know what. However, it is highly possible that with someone of your skill level, we may need your talents, but not if there is a possibility that Mr. Riddle may cause your control to keep slipping."

The bird chirped in agitation, and a rueful smile twisted Harry's face.

"Chatoyant says that at least when you plan to use us as weapons, you tell us the truth. Lead on, dear professor, and we shall see what we will see."

"Tell me, sister mine. I know you better than anyone, and I know that there is more to this. What is your true ulterior motive for this animalistic method?"

The White Queen smiled cruelly, her red-nailed fingers pressed together in front of her.

"Does a magician reveal his secrets to an audience before the stage is even set?"

The Black Queen laughed lightly from where she lay in feline fashion on an antique mahogany sofa, her black silk dress revealing a scandalous amount of pale thigh. "Of course not. Silly me. But you do realize the magnitude of what you are doing?"

"I am hardly a fool, sister; after all, you have yet to bring me down, yes?" Her soft tone held an undercurrent of malice.

"The fact is mutual." Only the minute twitch of a muscle in her cheek betrayed her angered annoyance.

The White Queen sighed mockingly. "Really, I doubt you came to grace me with your exalted presence just to exchange barely hidden verbal barbs."

"If that were true, I would have merely gone to speak with the president," the Black Queen replied lightly.

"Since when do the two of you just 'speak'?"

"What are you insinuating, sister love?"

"You know quite well. Tsk, tsk, what would our dearest mother have said? For that matter, what about the rest of the nation?"

The Back Queen smirked. "Dare I even wonder what methods you have applied to Senator Keverline to win his loyalty?"

"Touché, ma soeur³. Though at least _I _have a reason."

The black-clad woman raised an eyebrow elegantly. "Am I not allowed to have fun?"

"Be it not my place to say so."

"What do you have planned, White Queen? Complete and total chaos?"

"I would think you would agree with my aforementioned 'animalistic methods', as you so delicately put it. This situation with the revelation of mutants was predictable; humans are far too complacent in their lives to accept a new, unknown stimulus, and mutants will naturally fear and hate what the majority of our society can accomplish. With influence, this can turn into either a bloody civil war, or it can turn into a bloody civil war in which we are the sole receivers of the benefits.

"Because this is the United States of America, we hold powerful allies and enemies. It will not be long until the rest of the world is gradually drawn in, first through Great Britain and France, then the Middle Eastern countries; eventually, Japan and China will be forced to choose sides, and with all the greatest World Powers thrown into war, the other nations will be pressured, and risk either complete annihilation or adding their own powers."

"You have thought a great deal about this," the Black Queen mused, her own red-nailed fingers gently tracing the chain of her silver necklace. "However, how can you be sure that is how it will happen?"

"Think about it. In World War II, three major nations were pitted as one against the world. When the Japanese destroyed Pearl Harbor, they were in the mindset that it was inevitable the Americans join sooner or later. So they made it sooner. And it worked wonders, did it not? By applying similar tactics, we have one advantage the Japanese did not; America will already be in civil war, torn between national security and personal freedom granted to its citizens by its own Constitution. It is a matter of pride; naturally, if a nation were to be attacked, then it will retaliate. Others, or at least politicians and bureaucrats, would see it as an opportunity to win that country's good graces."

The Black Queen raised an eyebrow. "You are promoting total anarchy. You do know how flawed anarchy is in itself, correct?"

Her sister's eyes, matching to a fault her own shade of violet, looked menacingly amused. "With the slate wiped clean of so many, human and mutant alike, there will be plenty of time to build a new empire. The people will be so lost and hopeless, they will not care what happens to them any longer, leaving those with enough power to do as we wish."

"I never had you figured for world domination, sister."

The White Queen sneered. "I have no desire for world dominion. Think of this as the greatest lesson in human nature. They are flawed, hypocritical creatures, beasts that crawl amongst their own filth and excretion. Not even mutants are immune to these mistakes. I care not for their fate or pitiful attachments. They were practically designed to be manipulated. They will blame one another. They will fight one another, and they will kill one another."

"For once, sister, I am in complete accord with you." The Black Queen stood and fastidiously smoothed out the lines in her dress. "I will merge our assets in the human and mutant forces, and from now on our agents are to work together. However, there is still one problem that you have not yet addressed."

The White Queen stood as well to join her partner. It was eerie how much they were alike, yet opposite; the same fairly tall height, the same soft pale skin, the same almond violet eyes and aristocratic facial structures. However, one wore a long, elegant black dress whose bare back was hidden by the long fall of ebony hair; the other the same, but the dress a creamy white and her similar long hair as white as freshly fallen snow.

"What do you plan to do about Charles Xavier and his Institute? He will not accept these...new developments lying down."

"Do not worry about him or his brats, sister. I have several agents more than willing to deal with that problem."

"See that they do so efficiently and discretely. It would not do to have them fail."

"I am aware of that. They have yet to fall short of their goals. Be sure that your own operatives do the same."

Their twin voices had grown chilly.

"Once this plan of yours is set in motion, there will be no going back."

"Of course."

The Black Queen gave her sister one more look before gliding from the room as lightly and gracefully as if she had been stepping across water. She paused just before leaving the room.

"It will be your death."

The White Queen glared after her sibling, now that no one was in sight letting her ire show in this small way. She returned to her desk and viciously stabbed at a button.

"Yes, Milady?"

"Send up Puppet Master, Black Widow, and Penance immediately."

"Yes Milady."

The Queen let her fingers trail aimlessly along her gold chain necklace.

Damn her sister. She knew very well what her agents were capable of, thank you very much, and had been in this business so long she could do it successfully in her sleep. Because of her own mutant powers, sharp intelligence, and physical attributes, she knew exactly how to get what she wanted from anyone and how to use her information. She wasn't born yesterday, for God's sake!

The other Queen was the only one that had ever been able to get under skin so thoroughly and make her sound so petty even in her own thoughts.

Her hand tightened convulsively around the tiny fragile links.

"You called, Milady?"

Puppet Master's croaky voice broke into her thoughts, and without changing expression she turned her attention to the three standing in front of her.

They were strange in appearance; Puppet Master was a small, rail-thin man with so many bangles and beads and ornaments wound into his long hair and around his stick body he looked like a walking curio shop. His skin was dark and wrinkled from the New Orleans sun, and his abnormally long fingers gripped a staff hung with a large, bulging crocodile skin pouch.

Penance was possibly the strangest looking, with skin redder than a ruby with the ability to shred whatever it came into contact with it like a fine razor. Her brilliant blue eyes were the only thing not crimson in color, and they watched events with a frightening expression of emotionless calculation; she was a creation of the laboratory, and thus possessed an almost inborn hatred of humans.

Black Widow's skin was whiter than sun-bleached bone with archaic features, her soot-black hair brushing the floor as the skeletal body moved. Her eyes were completely black-pupil, iris, and white were nowhere to be seen in that soulless gaze. Sharp claw-like black nails concealed small glands that produced a poison with no known antidote, and from the backs of her pale hands were long scars that looked rather like veins, from which spider- silk was created. She rarely ever spoke, but when she did, a soft, whispery voice emanated from her throat like a siren's song, belying her disturbing appearance.

The White Queen spoke. "The Black Queen is aware of my plans, and has agreed to let her own agents work with my own. Unfortunately, I trust her about as much I would trust any politician. Do not let your guard down while in her presence, otherwise you will be of no use to me. Understood?"

"Yes, Milady," Puppet Master replied for the three of them.

"The only force with the power and intelligence to put a stop to my desires is Charles Xavier. I want you three to work on reconnaissance and gather as much information as possible, then report back to me at regular intervals. Black Widow, you are to find what Puppet Master needs to perform his work; Penance, should anyone get wind of our presence or plans, I want them destroyed with no mercy. I don't care if it is an elderly woman or a whining child. I want them eliminated."

1: For those of you that don't have cruel teachers that make you copy weird words in the dictionary just to have something to do, the paragraph cold be translated to this: Chatoyant shifted into a Thestal. Or a black horse with wings that looks like it hasn't eaten in years. The poor things…

Hmm, a Dark Sorcerer. Yummy.

2: No, Voldemort is not Harry's father (although that would be interesting...). I just worded it that way because it seemed appropriate to me at the time.

3: ma soeur-if I did it right, it should mean "my sister" in French. But then again, I never do pay much attention in that class...

Please Review!


	9. All Through the Night

The reason Harry didn't use a lot of magic in the last chapter was because that would have made it far too easy. Remember, electronics can't work around magic? He could have just overloaded the holographic circuits (of course, I've just created a minor plot hole with those last two statements, but we'll overlook that).

Many of Black Widow's talents was inspired by the Black Jewel Trilogy. If you've read the books, then you'll know what I mean. I claim no responsibility for those particular things. Black Widow, Puppet Master and Penance were actual mutants from the comics, so I do not own them, though I kinda had to make up their personalities.

You've got your ball, you've got your chain  
Tied to me tight, tie me up again  
Who's got their claws in you, my friend?  
Into your heart I'll beat again

-Crash Into Me Dave Mathews Band

* * *

"Aren't children just absolutely fascinating creatures?" 

Black Widow glanced at Puppet Master, watching the older man twirl a beautiful little china doll in his emaciated fingers. She was busily attaching four long pieces of wood in a roughly square shape with fine spider threads joining the ends.

"I suppose," she whispered in her silky voice, tying off a knot.

Using a fine-tip black pen, Puppet Master expertly scribed several symbols and shapes onto the nude doll's body. Then he took a leather water skin from his crocodile bag and stuck the doll's blonde-curled head under.

Black Widow paused in her weaving. "What are you doing?"

"Playing dolls."

"Stop being a bastard," Penance snapped coldly, rapping his wrist harshly and making his drop the waterskin and doll with a pained yelp. "If it's not an X-Man, I don't want you fucking around."

"Is this how you treat all your elders?" he asked snidely. She sneered back.

"Only those that act like petulant brats."

Ignoring their mean-spirited bickering, Black Widow resumed her task. Inside the wooden square, supported upright by the weight of several stones, was the vaguest beginnings of a spun web, the tiny strands glittering in the moon's light like spun quicksilver and mother-of-pearl. She worked methodically with the ease of a practiced artist, her almost unnaturally long fingers working skillfully at weaving and binding and spinning a soon-to-be complex pattern of shapes and destinies that only she could possibly understand. Her mind, full of generations upon generations' worth of memories and legends, slipped into a relaxed trance-like state like stepping into a cold pool.

As the silk was spun from her body and integrated into this intricate, multifaceted creation, the darkness in her mind's eye began to see.

Time is not a linear element.

Scenes of mothers tending small offspring, men going off to work for another day; teenagers partying, drinking, then taking a test in school; she saw an elderly woman killed by a thief's bullet, a tough almost-adult boy shot by a rival, another boy forcing himself upon his girlfriend. A mutant destroying a group of humans bearing weapons, and quite suddenly, she saw Charles Xavier, falling from his chair and lying prone upon the ground. Dead? Perhaps. Unmoving. Pale. Lips blue.

A vibrant redheaded female screaming in rage, her powers exploding out of control.

An elf going berserk.

A sister going insane.

The weather raging from its natural course, pouring cold misery.

What's this...?

Eyes, greener than an emerald, fierce and powerful.

New eyes, these darker than blood, cold and cunning and sibilant.

A phoenix, a serpent, a dragon, an eagle...four of the greatest creatures, surrounded by other beasts, rending in blood and rage and fearsome power.

"The Queen put me in charge. I will not allow you to prance about frivolously with your dolls."

Irritably, Black Widow was broken out of her trance by the frigid undertone of Penance's harsh voice directed at the cruel old man.

Sighing beneath her breath, the Widow turned to survey her work with a critical eye. The frame now held a full tangle of a web, though far more meticulously created than any natural spider would bother to do. Within its weave lay the complicated possibilities of the future.

"We are not here to play games, Puppet master."

Personally, though she would never say anything about it, Black Widow mused that Penance was the only person she knew who had never raised her voice. It merely became colder and colder the angrier she got.

"I am well aware of that, brat. You forget how much longer I've lived than you, child, I know how to play these games particularly well."

"Then stop messing around with your dolls. Widow, are you done?"

"Yessss," Black Widow said softly.

"Good. We are currently about five kilometers from the Xavier Institute. Widow, as soon as we get there, I want you to go first, as the quietest one. I want you to disable as many security systems you can. Old man, you and I will follow. I'll get you in there, as well as dealing with any opposition we may come across. But we are not there to kill, only for reconnaissance. Got it?"

Her icy blue eyes narrowed at Puppet Master, who sneered at her.

"What do your weavings tell you, Black Widow?"

"Fate has grown more indecisive as of late. For almost the last moon cycle¹ I have been unable to glean cemented images. But I see two futures, not just the one."

"Such as?" the older male pressed somewhat rudely. She pretended not to notice.

"The world is calm; it is scarred, but not permanently. The two races live together in mutual peace, rebuilding that which was destroyed. But there is something wrong, something that has interfered with our fated paths, for the other choice lays in death and destruction and violence."

"The Queens would not allow it to degenerate to such a base state," Penance said, nearly snappish.

"One lies toppled on her square, the other watches with her pawns and knights and bishops. Black to white to black, but there is another, a lord of grey, and a man of nothing but crimson, crimson snake eyes and crimson snake teeth and crimson snake hands. Black rules in darkness. White rules with manipulation. Grey rules with heartbreak. Crimson rules in blood." Widow blinked dazedly.

"This war will destroy us," she said simply, and then the little hook beneath a her nail snagged on the web and it fell silently.

"Well, ain't ya just a regular little fuckin' ray o' sunshine," Puppet Master sneered after a long moment. Penance growled at him, then glanced upwards at the sky.

"Come, it's time." Her slender, muscled form slipped off into the trees. The other two followed.

"Who made ya the leader?" Puppet Master groused loudly.

The red-skinned woman stopped, turned to look at the old man, and brought her face close enough to nearly touch. If they had, her skin would shredded the other in bloody ribbons, even with simple contact.

"The White Queen. Now, if you cannot remain silent, then I will have no inhibitions slicing off your tongue and ramming it down your throat. We are nearing the Institute. Usually, a reconnaissance mission requires stealth, not the nattering of a wizened old man. Understood?"

He curled his lip, but nodded in acquiescence.

Keeping eye contact for a moment longer, Penance finally turned and continued.

"When we get there, we have to have absolute silence. We do not know the extent of all the mutant abilities inside. Black Widow, disable the security alarms and get us into the main building, then sound out the structure. Puppet Master, collect whatever you need as we go. The goal is to find the files Xavier keeps on all his mutants, as well as any schematics, blueprints, charts, or information that prove useful later."

"What are YOU doing?"

For the first time since they had started this mission, a brief expression flitted over her face. It was a small, smug smirk. "I highly doubt that any of you are of any use on a computer. That is where I will work." She glanced at them over her shoulder briefly. "And should we find resistance...they will be eliminated."

Black Widow sighed imperceptibly. More bloodshed, more violence. It seemed as though the Queens were trying to hasten the end. But she was used to the short-sightedness of others; the only other seer she had met had been Iris, who worked under the pseudonym Destiny. But even the blind woman worked under the thrall of Mystique, not fate.

Peeking between the trees rose the Institute from the darkness, its grounds quiet and windows dark. Seen only by her, though, were the thin, silver threads that wove around, under, over, and into everything winding heavily around the structure to the inside. Her strange eyes narrowed; by one window, one of the middle floors, the threads were thicker and the silver more metallic.

"We're here," Penance whispered somewhat unnecessarily. "Now, Widow, there's a circuit right—"

"Something's not right," Black Widow interrupted, lines of worry appearing on her otherwise smooth skin.

Penance tensed. "Have we been seen?"

"There is something, or someone, of extraordinary power. They are greatly wound into the Web. But...they don't belong here," she ended in confusion. "Their presence is—"

"Inconsequential," Penance snapped. "We are not here to prophesize, Widow. We continue as planned."

* * *

Beneath his feet, the ground was a long, continuous sheet of glass. The bruised red sky was reflected in the mirrored surface; but behind the illusion flowed a powerful torrent of blackened liquid.

"Harry, the mirror is crying. Why is the mirror crying?"

_It's just a dream,_ Harry told himself, willing his body not to turn even as it did_. It's just a dream, just a dream, wake up..._

But he kept turning, and he found a little boy standing in front of a tall Victorian-style looking glass that lay in broken shards around his feet. His white-blonde hair moved slightly in a suddenly acrid wind, and his pale childish hands were stained with seeping crimson. Thick, pearly tears slid from the dulled backing of the mirror, pooling in an ever-widening circle.

Harry knew the boy's silver eyes with every part of his existence.

"Draco?"

But the boy did not react. Instead, he only frowned down at his wounded, bleeding hands. "Father won't be pleased. He just bought this robe for me."

Harry felt torn, his heart breaking all over again. Finally, he took a shaky step forward, knowing this was a dream yet fervently wishing it was not.

"Draco..."

The child returned his attention to the shell-shocked sorcerer in front of him. "I keep trying to put it back together — "he gestured imperiously at the mound of shattered glass, "— but I can't. There's just too many pieces. Father will be disappointed." His little face pulled into a pout

Harry crouched down in front of him so that they were eye-to-eye. "I can help you," he whispered, throat too tight to allow anything louder. "I'll make sure your father isn't mad."

Draco's pout broke into a wide grin, reminiscent of the one Harry clearly remembered only seeing twice. Once when Harry had gotten covered in the Slytherin's oil paints and turpentine after tripping over Chatoyant, and once before one of their largest and bloodiest battles against Voldemort.

Reaching out for a piece, Harry felt his skin suddenly split beneath the sharp edge, and the dream world began to dissolve in a rush of fading color. His yelled protests might as well not even have existed, for all the good they did.

He jerked awake, his harsh breathing echoing eerily in the darkened bedroom.

A warm, heavy bundle lying at the foot his bed stirred, freezing his half- asleep body and making his hand jerk in the direction of the knife lying innocently under his pillow.

"I had a nigh'mare too," whispered a tiny female voice, and it took him a moment to recognize it. When he did, he relaxed slightly.

"Artemis?" With a flick of his mind, a small orb of faint light appeared and cast gentle illumination over the occupying objects in the room. The little girl sat up hugging her knees, large blue eyes luminous in the low lighting. "What are you doing in here?"

"I had a nigh'mare," she reiterated quietly.

"Why come here?"

"You seem like da kind o' person who has nigh'mares all the time too."

**Hardly been here a month and already you have a bad reputation. I'm impressed. **His familiar remarked sleepily.

Figuring that he would not get any more sleep that night, Harry sat up and leaned against the headboard with his legs crossed, holding open his arms. Artemis immediately crawled across and planted herself in his lap, snuggling into his chest.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I was jus' remembering...the nigh' Mommy died," she said in a small voice. Harry could relate to that very well.

She twisted around so that she could look up at him, tiny brows drawn together in childish concern. "Do you want ta talk about it too?"

He laughed softly, a sad sound, giving her a brief hug. "I was dreaming about Draco."

"That's a strange name. Who's tha'?"

"Not any stranger than yours or your brother's. He was my...friend."

"What kind o' friend?"

Harry frowned down at her. "What do you mean, 'what kind of friend'?"

She sat up and away from him, turning slightly to fully look him in the face and adopting the stern look all children use when trying to teach an ignorant adult. "There are lots o' differen' types o' friends. There are jus' so-so friends, the ones that ya play with at school but don't really want ta invite over; there are really good friends, who are fun to be with and do things. Then there are goodest bestest friends, who ya can tell all sorts of secrets and they wouldn't tell, even if they have ta go to their room! My brother is my best friend," she added in an undertone. "Skittles thinks it's weird for brothers and sisters not ta fight, but she doesn't have one, so she doesn't understand. And then..." Her voice grew solemn. "Then there the friends that are like...like...Scott and Jean," she finished in frustration, unable to find the words to explain herself.

"Boy and girl?"

She shook her head roughly. Harry blinked, then suddenly understood what she was trying to say.

"You mean like boyfriend and girlfriend?"

She grinned, nodding. "Yeah! But it's really gross, when they get all kissy in the hallways." The tiny healer made a face, and then looked back at the wizard. "So, what kind o' friend is he?"

"He...was...all of those," he murmured, eyes casting downwards. "I could tell him anything, and even though he might make fun of me he would never dream of telling anyone else or hurting me. He was one of my greatest friends, always there to pull me out of whatever self-pitying pit I had shoved myself into. And I also...loved him. Like Scott and Jean love each other."

Though Artemis was not quite sure what all of what he said had meant, she was intelligent enough to have gotten the gist of it. But there was one thing... "You loved him? How? You're both boys."

Harry could not be sure how many times he had heard that same statement from others who had found that not only had the Boy-Who-Lived fallen in love with a male, but that male had been a Malfoy, and the son of one of the most notoriously evil of Death Eaters.

"It doesn't matter what gender someone is," Harry replied gently. "If it's a true love, then it shouldn't matter what the other person looks like, or what their favorite foods are, or how wealthy their family is. It should be based entirely upon who they are as a person."

Artemis' expression turned into a serious pout that was almost comical. Finally, she declared with all the authority of a queen, "That makes sense. My mommy tol' me the same thing, once."

"Well then, it must certainly be true if she said it, huh?" Harry said with a small smile, wondering what it was about little kids, and especially this one, that made it so easy for him to feel whole again, if only for a moment, that he could never do with an adult.

"Did Draco die, like Mommy?" she asked softly, eyes sympathetic. At once, the relaxation their little debate had wrought on him disappeared and his muscles tightened slightly.

"Yes."

"How?"

"He was murdered."

Her eyes widened, and a guilty look flashed across her face. Before she could say anything, however, a sharp tapping sound drew both their attentions, and Harry found himself staring at Hedwig perching precariously on the windowsill with her talons and rapping the glass pane with her beak. A wave of his hand tumbled the lock and temporarily dispelled the wards, allowing the snowy owl inside.

"Hey, girl," he breathed, stroking her lovingly as she alighted delicately onto his forearm. "Where have you been all this time?"

Her head tilted to one side, one round orange eyes regarding with surprisingly sharp intelligence. She hooted softly, almost urgently.

**I think something's wrong**, Chatoyant whispered into his mind, and her comment made him see his beloved owl's impatience.

**But what?**

A muffled yell emanated from the hallway outside of Harry's door.

"Artemis, get under the bed and don't move from there until either myself or one of the X-Men come and get you, understand?" As he spoke, Harry was pulling on the same clothes he had worn during his test in the danger room.

"But—"

"Now." She obeyed the stern tone, her tiny form disappearing beneath the dark space. Murmuring a string of Latin, he placed a protective ward over her and slipped silently from his room, Hedwig clinging to his shoulder. Chatoyant followed, her feline form shifting into an enormous serpent that looked powerful enough to crush a man with ease.

There was no one in the corridor.

Strange. Harry's eyes narrowed. One of the many vases situated on stands around the manor now lay on the floor in porcelain shards, one of the larger pieces still rocking slightly on its curve from the impact. Nothing else lay out of the usual.

Chatoyant's tongue flickered out, tasting the air and finding nothing.

**Perhaps it was a breeze...?** she finally commented weakly. The wizard shook his head.

**No windows in this corridor.**

Despite his misgivings, Harry was ready to turn back to his room and call it a false alarm, but then from the corner of his eye he saw a shadow move.

The corridor erupted into action.

Sirius' knife, having been replaced into its holder when Artemis had shown up, hissed out of its sheath, very nearly pinning the shadow that was not a shadow he had seen. Instead, it thwacked into the woodwork on the wall.

Dropping to all fours, he narrowly avoided the heavy stick that came from nowhere slicing dangerously through the air where his head had been moments before and kicked out, feeling a solid impact with a giving object and a pained grunt from his assailant. Continuing on one swift movement, he twisted until he stood on his feet and struck out with a tight fist, connecting with solid thump to the side of the attacker's head and making him stumble to his knees. He lashed outwards again, intending to knock the man unconscious, but a thin, wasted hand snapped in his direction and firmly grasped his long, unbound hair, twisting violently.

Snarling, Harry sent a shudder of magic racing through the man's arm, eliciting a keening cry of pain and forcing the man to the ground in defeat.

Alarms had started going off in the rest of the mansion; apparently, the security system had been tripped. Realizing that there could be more intruders, Harry Apparated with a small pop, failing to notice the fallen man clench a tighter fist around the few strands of ebony hair remaining in his grasp.

The wizard reappeared in the main entrance hall of the Institute, instantly dropping into a defensive crouch like a cat and stilling himself to listen intently.

There was no one in the hall, yet the warning alarm continued to shriek.  
_  
How strange..._

"Harry? Like, what's going on?"

He nearly had a heart attack when Kitty phased through a wall with a yawn, but still with enough sense to have her guard up.

"I don't know," he said flatly, rising to a normal standing position. "I found an intruder outside my room, and then the alarm started going off."

He jumped again when a sharp crack of the air announced the arrival of Kurt. He briefly wondered how many years the recent stress had taken from his lifespan.

"What—"

"Harry saw an intruder," Kitty said, cutting off the elf. "Someone must have tripped the perimeter."

A loud crash echoed from the main hallway to their right. The three teenagers moved with almost inhuman speed, racing across the entrance hall and careening into the corridor where the noise had emanated.

Evan was locked in a fighting embrace with a pale-skinned woman, though the darkness hid much of her physical features. She was hissing strangely and using her nails as claws to try to rake her assailant, but Evan's flesh was tougher than most and resisted her attack.

Kitty quickly found the light switch and turned it on; Kurt bamfed away and reappeared behind the woman, locking his legs around her waist and grasping her thin wrists with his powerful hands. His tail wrapped itself around her neck and tightened, effectively causing her to suddenly still in instinctive self-preservation. Evan rolled away, free, rubbing ruefully at the few deep scratches she had managed to inflict.

Harry had to admit he was highly impressed. He had known these mutants were good fighters, despite having grown up in a war-free world, but this was really the first time he had seen them in action, and he was far from disappointed. He had not even moved, and yet these three worked with well- practiced movements and teamwork, and rendered an enemy helpless in less than four seconds.

The wizard found his mind adjusting his initial impressions of them, and a spark of respect began to burn.

"Man, that hurt," Evan muttered, casually wiping off the few drops of blood on his boxers.

"Who is she?" Kitty wondered, stepping forward and peering into her face.

"Dunno."

"Well, like, who are you?" Kitty demanded impatiently, glaring at the silent woman. Kurt's tail squeezed a little more tightly in warning, but she did not react.

"She's obviously not talking," Evan growled, pride still ruffled.

"Allow me," Harry murmured, slipping past Kitty until he stood almost nose- to-nose with the captive.

"But — "

"Hush, Kitty," Evan said gently, but firmly.

Harry examined her closely. She had strange features, with almost unnaturally large almond eyes that were utterly dark and emotionless and a thin-lipped mouth beneath a small nose. Her skin was paper-thin and pale, strongly reminding him of the vampires he had spent a short time with, but a brief mental probe proved that she was indeed very alive.

Trusting in Kurt's ability to keep her bound, Harry raised a hand and gently rubbed his thumb over her sharp cheekbone. Her skin was cool, but not quite soft, having an unusually rough feel despite its smooth appearance. Making sure that he was the only focus of her attention, he began to speak in low tones.

"Who are you?"

She remained silent. Mentally frowning, Harry reinforced the persuasive magic he was using in his voice.

"Who are you?"

Still she did not speak, though her lips parted slightly and revealed the tips of fangs.

"Who are you?" he repeated patiently, willing his magic to weave itself into her being.

"A weaver." The words were spoken slowly and almost ethereally, their formation overlaid with the same hissing he had heard from her only a few moments ago.

"What do you weave?" Quite honestly, her answer had completely thrown him. It was an honest answer, but not the one he had been expecting.

"Fate."

Harry prayed that she was not a goddess playing mortal. If she happened to be one of the Fates...the results would not be pretty.

"What are you?" he pressed, voice sibilant.

"A weaver of silk and fate and death..."

Gods, how Harry hated cryptic answers. They did not usually bode well for the one hearing them.

Behind him, Evan groaned loudly, breaking Harry's concentration. Immediately, the magic he had been wrapping around her mind snapped and dissipated. He turned angrily, then paused.

The skater was on one knee, arms wrapped tightly about his torso and his head bowed. The muscles of his back, now visible without a shirt, were quivering, and sweat was beginning to streak his dark skin. Another groan fell from him, and he curled even more, sides beginning to heave as he gasped for air.

"Evan! What's wrong?" Kitty fell to her knees and put her own arms about him, but he cried out at the contact and shied away from her. Her pretty face was drawn in confused fright and worry. "Evan, what..."

There was a scuffling sound from the elf and prisoner; Kurt must have loosened his grasp on the woman as he turned to Evan, and she had taken advantage of the fact and twisted out of his grasp.

Silken ropes sprung from her hands, and the woman was pulled to the ceiling, where she clung there and crawled towards the Institute's main hall with impossible speed on all fours. As Harry watched in stupefied astonishment, the back of her loose black blouse shredding itself to pieces as four long, furry, segmented legs spread themselves out. Through the tears of the garment, a great red hourglass stood out vividly at the base of her spine like a bloodied tattoo.

A weaver of silk, fate, and death. A spider. A bloody, stupid arachnid.

Evan whimpered, earlier pride forgotten in the agony that seared his body and rushed through his veins like wildfire.

Poison.

Harry's eyes widened. Her scratches must have somehow poisoned him, which most likely meant that the only antidote in existence lay with her.

"Black Widow! Hurry!"

A stunningly-formed female with the red scaly skin of a reptile stood in the hallway's entrance, a small black bag in one hand, and...

Artemis in the other, tiny form limp in the white sheet that covered her, except for the long fall of dark hair that spilled out and part of her face that showed between the folds.

Harry saw red.

His quickly mounting rage, however, was disrupted by the pitiful moan from the skater, lying prone on the floor and shivering.

Artemis was unconscious and captive, but Evan was dying.

"Kurt, get Artemis!" he roared, body already shifting without conscious thought. He had thoroughly forgone any comprehensive plan, the core of his magic already beginning to surge with the unexpected rush of battle. With a powerful cry, he let the magic pour from his body, and the subtle light of it twisted sinuously as it flowed inexorably towards Black Widow. The rush of magic suppressed the small twinge in his soul, one he failed to notice in his panic.

He dimly wondered where all the other inhabitants of the Institute had gone.

Capture the spider. Kill the reptile.

Before Harry had finished his sentence, Kurt was already teleporting to the red woman's side, leaving Harry free to center on the spider. The long strings of his magic caught to the spider's many legs, tripping them up and twining around them to make it impossible to move. Fangs bared, she hissed like an angry cat, sharp nails clawing ineffectually at the insubstantial, yet stronger than steel, magic.

"STUPEFY!"

Abruptly, her body stopped writhing and went limp. Free to disregard her, Harry Apparated frantically to the entrance hall, where Professor X and the rest of the X-Men were just beginning to appear. Wolverine had a vicious gash across the entire right side of his face that oozed blood, but the man seemed not to notice in his snarling ire.

Kurt, Artemis, and the red-skinned woman were nowhere to be seen.

He stood numbed to the spot, mind screeching to a halt.

He had failed, yet again.

_heroes don't last forever, boy_

"What happened?" Jean breathed, quiet voice shockingly loud in the silence that followed the sudden rush of violence.

"Three intruders," Harry dimly heard himself saying. "Kurt and Artemis are gone. Evan is dying."

There was a flurry of commotion as Ororo, Jean, and Scott fled down the hallway to the shivering form of the poisoned boy.

:Hurts, doesn't it:

"Why did you not know of this sooner?" the wizard asked softly, gaze sliding towards Professor Xavier. The crippled telepath's eyes were darkened in guilt and sorrow; there was anger there, as well, but it was not focused on Harry.

"Their minds have completely disappeared. I cannot track them."

:Look at him, boy. Can you not see him hiding, swiftly calculating the most profitable course of action? Men like him never change, child, no matter what world they are from.:

"What do we do now?" murmured Sarah, her tiny frame seeming even smaller by her slumped shoulders and her thin arms she had wrapped around herself.

No one had an answer, and somehow that was even worse than Xavier's calm assessment.

"DAMMIT!" Harry whirled upon the older mutant and seized him by the shoulders, leaning forward until their faces were bare inches apart. "Why don't you do anything? WHY, DAMN YOU!"

"GET OFF HIM, BRAT!" There was an enraged roar, and powerful hands grabbed him about the waist and flung him backwards as though he were little more than a rag doll, sending him against the floor with a sharp crack of bony flesh against marble. Dazed, Harry looked up into the infuriated face of Wolverine, the still fresh blood giving him the visage of some vengeful beast of primal power. The gruff, animalistic mutant towered over him, adamantium claws extended just below the soft skin of his throat threateningly.

"I don' know how things 're done where yer from, and I don' give a flyin' fuck either. But you ever put yer scummy, fuckin' little paws on the professor agin, I'll kill ya."

"Logan."

The professor's calm but sad voice seemed to still that beast raging within Wolverine's mind, and he backed down; but his cold brown eyes clearly indicated his willingness to continue their little discussion in private, probably in a place where it would not be difficult to hide bodies.

Harry had carefully kept his face from expressing the surge of inexplicable fear at Logan's wrath, but his nature naturally rebelled and grew in simmering fury until his magic threatened the spin out of control for the umpteenth time.

:Pathetic. Should you continue allowing them to walk all over you, you'll soon be a submissive, helpless little child.:

Shut up!

The wizard slowly began to climb to his feet, glowering at the threatening mutant.

**HARRY!**

The mindcall was so strong it knocked him back to the ground.

**Chatoyant?**

**HE TOUCHED ME, THE BASTARD!**

**And...and he got away,** she finished almost inaudibly, shame pouring through their connection.

"Bloody hell."

Feeling a bubble of hysteria rising in his throat, Harry let himself fall onto his back, arms falling in a spread-eagled position.

* * *

The morning sun reflected brilliantly off of the mullioned stained glass windows, painting the sanctuary of the church within a veritable rainbow of warm, rich color. People filled the long rows of polished wooden pews, most with the hymnbooks open on their lap as their voices filled out in worship, a few remaining silent in personal prayer and looking upon the great crucifix hanging behind the pulpit with a desperation to find the answers wrought there.

Keeping to the shadows, Kurt wrapped his tail around the waist of the saint statue standing tall and resolute in the corner near the back and perched delicately atop the broad stone shoulders. He had not worn his holographic projector; not today, not here...not in the house of his God. Here, there would be none of the pretenses and lies from the outside world.

His large, long-fingered hands gently stroked the smaller version of the crucifix hanging about his neck on the rosary, normally hidden beneath the material of his uniform.

"Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou amongst women, and blessed be the fruit of thy womb, Jesus..."

His whisper was left unheard beneath the weight of the singing of the others present in the Catholic church. He was safe, for now. At least from the hatred of others.

But not from his own self-hatred.

"...Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.

"Hail Mary, full of grace..."

The church grew silent, and the priest stepped up to begin his sermon.

"And the Lord created Man in His image..."

Kurt repressed the urge to laugh in bitterness.

Today, the Reverend Johnson was addressing the issue of mutants.

"And the Lord formed Man of the dust of the ground and breathed into him life eternal; and He said, 'Rejoice, for you are My children, and I am your Creator and Loving Father'..."

Kurt could remember a time when he had gazed upon these images of Jesus dying to absolve Mankind of their sins so that hey may pass into Paradise, and felt such love and faith as would make him feel more than the tiny, blue-furred child bearing the weight of accusation and scorn from the rest of the world. But now, the words that had once allowed him to continue hoping, believing, even to the point where taking his own life had seemed so much easier, those words now failed him.

"But not every man accepted the Lord into his heart; and He spoke, 'If there be found among you...man or woman, that hath wrought wickedness in the sight of the Lord thy God...and behold it true...then thou shalt bring forth that man and that woman, which have committed that wicked thing...when the Lord thy God shall deliver them before thee, thou shalt smite them and utterly destroy them..."

The black-beaded rosary dangled limply from the elf's fingers, the tiny golden cross spinning and glittering in the reflected light of the windows.

"And did He not make man in His image?" The priest spoke with fervor now, hands gesturing to emphasize his point. "Not once does it mention the Holy Book of mutants, of these monsters sent to spread dissension amongst us, His children! Mutants are not the Sons of God, nor the 'evolved' humans scientists would have you believe! The same scientists who turn away from our Holy Father. No, they are not of us, nor were they created by God! They are the twisted creations of Satan, he who would spoil our children in the very womb of women, in the source of original sin!"

It was a good thing Rogue was not there, Kurt mused thoughtfully, turning the rosary over in his hands. She would have had an absolute fit.

"I beseech you, my brothers and my sisters, not to make the damning mistake of accepting these horrid constructions of the Fallen One as one of your own."

That's right, Kurt laughed brokenly to himself. That was all he was.

A damned mistake.

"He's waking up, milady. What would you have us do?"

"Put him in one of the holding cells with the girl. I will deal with him later."

The cracking of his reality soon blazed into a white oblivion.

* * *

Rogue stumbled from the kitchen, her fingers still tingling almost painfully.

A foreign presence rampaged through her mind, cold and apathetic and efficient. She could feel it, icy fire racing through her veins, urges so alien to her they hardly seemed human; her vision was warped, as though she were looking through a kaleidoscope and each little mirror had a different view.

Was she in the kitchen of the Institute...?

...or did the world always seem so fragmented?

/I want to know everything about Xavier/

/I want to know how Cerebro functions/

/I want its limitations/

/I want -- /

/I want to know how to destroy Professor Charles Xavier/

/I want to know how to send the X-Men to hell/

No, no, no, that was wrong, completely wrong...the professor was a friend, a teacher, the father she had never had...the X-Men were her family...

No. They were only players in Fate's hands...

/I am a weaver of fate/

/of death.../

I'm Rogue, I'm an X-Man! I'm a mutant. My mother is Mystique, and my favorite book is Stoker's Dracula, and I love shrimp jambalaya...

Slowly, the presence withdrew, pushed back into that little corner of her mind with all the others, its sibilant voice reduced to the same vague whispers as the others.

Her eyesight still as blurred as a newborn's, the southern girl slumped against the doorframe in sudden exhaustion. Her skin prickled with the sheer abnormality of the newest addition to the horde of voices in her head.

Rogue rubbed her fingers absently against the polished wood, trying to calm the iciness that had seeped into her flesh from where she had brushed against the pale, silent woman with eyes utterly devoid of life.

She had been making her usual midnight fare in the large kitchens...she had always had trouble sleeping, often enough to border on insomnia, when the whispers grew too loud for her bear...and then a shadow had flitted through, that damned woman...the Black Widow...

Magneto may have been gone, but now there were new players on the field.

Rogue abruptly pushed herself away from her support, swaying on her feet as her equilibrium was thrown off track.

She had to warn Xavier.

Oh God...

* * *

1: A full cycle is 28 days, approximately, right?

**Reviews**: I'm really sorry that it's taken me so long to update. Been really busy... ya right... I'm just lazy. Just like I'm too lazy to go through all the reviews and thank everyone by name... So I will just do it this way: **THANK YOU EVERYONE THAT REVIEWED! **You really helped me get off my lazy butt and update. I'll see if I can update agian later this week... But that's a 'maybe.'


	10. The Night the Lights Went Out

A few aspects from the X-Men movie(s) have been added. When Cerebro shows up, just think of the movie version.

Please, if you're reading, let me know what you think! Simply telling to 'update now' or 'cool story', while kind, doesn't exactly help me much.

BtW: I'm sure that at least one person noticed that most of my titles are song titles… Though I won't say which ones. - If someone can actually tell me which ones they are, I will put a special notice in here for you. And now, on with the next chappie!

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Held safely in the embrace of Harry's arms was Chatoyant, her fur still slightly bristled from the remnants of her earlier rage even as her master stroked her with long, soothing motions. Narrowed cat eyes observed the mad scramble of mutants in front of where they were seated in a corner as they struggled to find a way to keep Evan's convulsing body from dying.

The captive mutant lay bound on another table, unconscious.

"Hank, his heart rate is accelerated!" Ororo called to the teacher across the room, where he was busily examining the toxin gathered from Black Widow's poison gland. Her normally calm, collected state had been reduced to a helpless upset in the face of her nephew's suffering.

"Sedate him," he said shortly. "This is some form of neurotoxin, but I cannot isolate its structure. It also appears to infiltrate soft cellular forms and…destroy them."

**He's been under it for a rather long time,** Chatoyant murmured softly into Harry's mind. **Perhaps it is because of his particular mutation?**

"Is there nothing we can do?" Harry whispered aloud, tone hopeless. Despite having mastered many different types of magics, he had never been able to remain objective enough to be able to perform serious Medical Magic—with the delicate structure of the human body and the multitude of possibilities of destroying something essential with a mere flicker of thought, it required a patience and single-mindedness that Harry had only ever been able to find in the battlefield.

Chatoyant remained silent.

Another spasm coursed through Evan's powerful body; his back arched towards the ceiling in a tight bow, his jaw tightened visibly, and the muscles of his body stood out in thick, straining cords that looked ready to snap. Blood oozed from his mouth where his lips were pulled back into a snarl.

It was so much like the Cruciatus that even the experienced Harry could feel the bile rising in his throat.

_At least his guts aren't falling out_.

Struggling not to retch, Harry Apparated out of the Infirmary.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

He reappeared in the main foyer with his familiar still clutched in his arms, a cold feeling spreading over his skin.

Evan was slowly dying despite the best efforts of the Institute's greatest medical minds. Rogue had somehow appeared at the end extremely flustered and rambling to herself, before Xavier had taken her aside to a private room to speak. Wolverine's wounds had turned out to be more severe than previously thought—the skin of his entire right side had been torn to hanging shreds. Chatoyant had been touched by one of the intruders, a gross violation of taboo that left a sick feeling lingering the back of both their minds. Kurt and Artemis were gone.

He tightened his grip on his familiar, unaware that he was standing still as a statue in the entrance hall staring blankly into space. All he was concerned about was the fact that as soon as he begun developing a sort of attachment to someone, they were stolen away from him. _Again and again and again_.

About the only good thing that came of this was the fact that Xavier had excused all of the students that attended Bayville High from school for the day.

A muffled explanation from his right immediately attracted his attention. Turning sharply, Harry found himself looking at the closed door of the same sitting room he had been carried to when he had lost consciousness in the mall some days before.

Without a second thought, Chatoyant leapt lightly to the ground and morphed into a tiny black moth with ease, then fluttered to the thin crack at the base of the door.

"That can't be right!" Scott Summers, of course.

"Why would I lie about this, Summers?" Rogue snapped, and through his familiar's eyes Harry could see the sneer twisting her lips.

"I don't know, but there must be a mistake! It's lunacy! They'll end up destroying everything!"

"They hardly sound like the epitome of goodness and virtue," the girl growled. "What else did you expect of them, really?"

"But sending all of mankind into a war of human and mutant is just, just stupid!" Scott's tone was incredulous, and he was pacing around the small room in agitation as Xavier sat silently and Rogue glared. Jean watched worriedly from the couch.

"Actually, it makes perfect sense," Xavier said quietly. "Most people believe that the two cannot coexist and that war is inevitable. The Queens want to use that to their advantage."

"But why Kurt?" Jean demanded suddenly. "And Artemis?"

"I think they were merely in the wrong place at the wrong time," Xavier replied calmly, folding his hands over his legs.

"How are we going to get them back if we can't even find them, Professor?" Scott cried, flinging his arms into the air. "What if they're being tortured right now?"

"We will find them, Scott," the crippled man replied firmly. "We will bring them back here alive, one way or another."

"Cerebro is useless," the older teen continued ruthlessly. "No doubt they would have covered up any other traces of their whereabouts, physical _or_ mental. What other way _is_ there! And let's not forget that we don't even know what they were after in the first place! Are all of Cerebro's parts still here?"

"Yes, Scott, nothing has been stolen."

"Then what was the fucking point?" Rogue cried, voice breaking into a half-hysterical shriek.

_Reconnaissance,_ Harry thought suddenly. _They're starting a war; they need to know the enemy._

He pulled away from the door and let his body fall silently against the wall, sliding slowly down to sit on the floor. Chatoyant's little moth form flittered onto his hand, her slight weight a breath of velvet against the skin Harry could never seem to warm anymore.

There had once been a journal Harry had kept during sixth year. It was a simple, but elegant little thing, with the musty smell typical of wizarding books and softly tanned leather covers, but its crisp parchment pages had not held words of dreams or musings or even a simple _Dear Diary_. Instead, it had held a neatly categorized inventory of every person that had fallen victim to the Dark Lord's growing reign, organized by date and type of death. It had not been difficult, with the combined reports of the Daily Prophet and his own nightmares that broke through the Occlumens shields Harry had used that could block even Voldemort's own conscious mind, but not the magic that had connected them for fifteen years. But then Draco had found it, and destroyed it; and had managed to convince Harry that the Dark Revels and Voldemort's actions were in no way a result of some fault of his own and that he had to get over it, or the Malfoy heir would curse him so horribly it would make the Dark Lord seem a mere amateur in comparison.

But now there were two more names to be added.

_Status: unacceptable._

A tall, powerfully built woman, skin violent red and glistening with the points of a thousand razor-sharp scales, startlingly blue eyes utterly cold and emotionless.

Harry could do nothing for the boy slowly dying in the infirmary. Evan's life was now entirely in the hands of Hank and Ororo.

But Harry was not completely useless.

He knew the appearance of Kurt and Artemis' abductor.

"Tonight, I will use Cerebro to try and locate their whereabouts," Xavier's voice continued from inside. "Rogue, I do not want you or anyone else to leave the school grounds. Understood?"

Harry blinked, then smirked to himself. _He_ was not one of Xavier's students, technically.

**Ready to go hunting, Cat?**

Feral glee rebounded down their link.

Slipping quietly away from the door, Harry Apparated to their room and headed straight for the magically sealed drawer. With a wave of his hand, the wards were released and he withdrew the many tiny vials of potions, slipping them into a cloak pocket; another hand wave had him dressed in the attire he usually saved for battle.

**Where's Hedwig?**

**Flying towards the estate right now.**

Moth-Chatoyant fluttered her wings in anxious anticipation. **What do you think will happen to Evan?**

**I…don't know.** Harry's eyes narrowed as he swept the room with a second glance for any stray possessions. **But the other mutants will take care of him.**

Because of the night's activities, nearly all of the mutants were either with Xavier in the little sitting room or gathered with the professors in the largest of the game rooms. Still, after Harry Apparated back into the Entrance Hall, he took care to walk unobtrusively yet in a casual manner so that any who might see him would not grow suspicious, and nearly managed to slip through the front door.

"Harry?"

Cursing, Harry turned to find the elder professor just exiting their conference room, backed by a stunned Scott and Jean and a red-eyed Rogue.

"Where are you going?"

"Out," the wizard said shortly, fleetingly wondering why he had not just Apparated straight out of the mansion.

Xavier's usually kind face was frowning. "Harry, I need everyone to stay inside until we decide what to do."

"Decide what to do?" Harry sneered incredulously. "We go out and _find_ Kurt and Artemis, kill whoever is fucking with us and the politicians, and make everything happy again."

**No sarcasm, indeed, Potter.**

"How are you going to find the perpetrators?" Xavier asked softly.

The boy opened his mouth, then snapped it closed and glared murderously at the psychic.

"Harry, I'm going to try and find them using my power," Xavier continued. "Please, stay here until we can _all_ decide on a future plan of action."

Torn, Harry stared at him; he knew that it made sense, to devise a clear and logical plan of action before executing anything. Yet at the same time, waiting had sometimes proved detrimental to the Light's cause, hesitations that often resulted in dead bodies and hovering Dark Marks.

The words of his dark little journal taunted him ruthlessly.

"Fine," he said tonelessly, feeling as though the previous fire that had filled his veins at the prospect of finally taking action had turned to ashes.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Cerebro's sterile titanium interior echoed slightly with their footsteps.

I thought Scott said that Cerebro would probably be useless, Chatoyant murmured.

**He did**.

**Then why are we wasting time here?** She demanded hotly.

**There's still a possibility that it might be successful,** Harry replied, but even his thoughts sounded doubtful.

The walk down to the school's bowels to Cerebro's location had been anticlimactically uneventful and silent. Unconsciously Harry had begun counting off the minutes in his head, wondering if one would be the moment in which he arrived too late to bring the two mutants back alive.

Leaving the others standing just inside the closed entrance, Xavier wheeled down the narrow aisle suspended in the center of Cerebro's spherical body and stopped before a long, steel-plated console. He calmly removed a strangely shaped helmet and placed it over his bare head before closing his eyes and taking a long, slow breath.

Almost immediately, the overhead lights dimmed and a misty hologram-like image flew into existence, outlining the seven continents in a rolling, pale fog all around like some great panorama. Tiny white dots flitted about in the billions, nearly indistinguishable from each other.

His rage quieted slightly in the face of this new magic.

"What is this?" he murmured in awe.

"Cerebro," Scott whispered to him. Rogue was ignoring them, and Jean was wrapped up in whatever the professor was doing. "It's a machine that enhances the professor's natural ability, powerful as it already may be. Every one of those little lights is a human, and Cerebro allows him to track down any person on earth just by their mental or mutant signature."

"Then by concentrating on them, he can tell where they are specifically and what's happening?"

Scott nodded. "But if he concentrates _too_ hard, he might kill them."

Stunned, Harry looked over to the crippled professor. _Such power,_ he thought, _and still he bears no cruel intentions_. His respect for the old man grew tenfold, and the small flicker of shame in his heart followed suit.

_And yet I didn't have the strength to resist temptation._

"It is harder than you might think," Xavier said, his clear voice breaking the overpowering stillness inside Cerebro. "I am much older than you, Harry; I have had more time to make mistakes, and more time to rectify them."

The billions of pale dots suddenly darkened to an angry red, fewer now in number but no less brilliant.

"These are the mutants," Scott supplied, sensing the wizard's question. "He's going to try and isolate Kurt and Artemis' brain patterns."

After a few seconds, the great map zeroed in on the Atlantic Ocean, to a small scattering of moving red forms.

"They're traveling," Xavier murmured, brow furrowed in deep concentration. "Something is preventing me from contacting either one or getting a clear reading on them."

"Where are they headed?" Rogue demanded.

"Somewhere in Europe. Their path is too northern a route to be going to Africa or southern Asia, but again, something is keeping their exact circumstances unclear."

"I can run a program that will plot their exact path and destination corrdinates," Scott volunteered.

"I thought the Queens were in New York," Jean said with a puzzled expression.

"As did I," Xavier sighed, removing the psychic enhancer.

"Who cares?" Rogue hissed, hazel eyes narrowed and glittering dangerously. "Let's hunt them down, kill the fuckers, and bring Kurt and Artemis home!"

The professor did not bother to scold her for her language. "Let us develop a plan of action first, Rogue. That way, we'll stand a better chance of finding them and bringing them back safely."

Strategy never had been Harry's strong point. Impulsive thinking on one's feet, however, he had excelled in.

"I will go," he said flatly. "I can travel faster than any other, save Kurt."

"No, Harry," Xavier said immediately. "I will not send you out alone to face several anti-government factions."

_There's a first, Albus_.

"I'll go as well," Rogue interrupted fiercely. "Kurt is _my_ brother!"

"I can't allow it," the psychic replied firmly. "I will send Logan, Scott, Jean—"

"We're not children!" Rogue snarled, taking a step towards Xavier. "Have you forgotten that I'm an X-Man too? Have you forgotten the Sentinel, and Magneto, and Apocalypse?"

"No, I have not forgotten. But I will not risk either of you or—"

"Unfortunately for you, _Charles_," Harry cut in smoothly, "I am not under your supervision. As far as I am concerned, your control over me extends only to my gratitude for you having allowed me residence here."

Turning on his heel, Harry made to leave Cerebro's internal sphere.

"Harry, please," Xavier said calmly. "I am not leaving the two of them to suffer under the Queens' hands. But I do not want to risk losing you on a venture without taking as much precaution as possible to ensure that not only yourself, but they and everyone involved return without mortalities."

The boy paused. Xavier had valid concerns, of course; after having lived through, and finished, a war of his own, Harry could understand that. But it was also exactly because of that he did not want to wait.

Rogue's voice cut him to the bone.

"I know why you don't want to wait," she whispered harshly. "You _want_ to go alone, because you want to die in the process."

:Poor little Potter. Is he feeling unhappy:

Shut it, Tom.

"And if I do?" he replied softly.

"Then you're a moron," she snapped. "You think you're the only one with problems, Potter? I don't know what the hell happened to make you such a bitter, reactive, emotionally fucked up little shit, but walking around with this cloud of pure _pathos_ over you isn't going to make it any better. So the world sucks. Get over it. Your lone-hero routine going off to meet his end only shows what a coward you are—if you want to prove something, then goddammit, start _living_."

There was silence. Then, in the same soft voice, Harry said, "Hurry up and get the jet ready. I won't wait for the rest of you forever."

"England," Scott said suddenly, eliciting everyone's confusion.

"What?"

"They're on a direct path to England; the only other country they could possibly end up in is Siberia," he explained impatiently.

"Why England?"

:Poetic irony, boy: whispered the Dark Lord deep in Harry's mind. :Just imagine it, losing two more in the same blood-soaked fields you lost the others in.:

"Shut up!" Harry hissed. The mutants looked at him, bemused, but he did not notice.

The second we get them back, Tom, I'm coming after you. And this time, I'll destroy you for good.

A low chuckle :I'm immortal, Harry. I cannot die.:

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

_He's out there_.

Rogue crossed her arms over her chest and stared out of the jet window, vaguely noting that the horizon had already begun to turn from penetrating black and blue to soft pink.

_They could be hurting_.

She had not known Artemis so well; to Rogue, the little girl had just been another of the many younger mutants dumped into the Institute. But she had always had a bit of a soft spot for kids, and the knowledge that the tiny girl could be in pain made her hackles rise.

But the fact that _her brother_ could be in the same state…

That was beyond fury.

"What do ya think he's doing?"

Kitty's voice snapped her away from her dark musings, and Rogue transferred her glare from the landscape to the chirpy girl looking over her shoulder in what she no doubt felt was a discreet manner.

The goth followed her gaze to the last row of seats in the jet, where the English boy sat with his head slightly bowed and that strange shape-shifting animal of his curled up in his lap as a black cat. He looked to be asleep, at first, but a second glance revealed that his breathing was just little _too_ slow and regular.

"Meditating," she said flatly. Kitty looked at her in surprise.

"How do you know?"

"Magic."

Kitty pouted. "That's _so _not funny."

_Wasn't meant to be._

Thinking back, Rogue regretted having turned upon Harry so quickly. It was obvious he had not had an easy life and had an almost inhuman number of issues, even if no one did know the full story. She and Kurt had just begun to form the first tentative gestures of friendship with the boy, when no one else could…and then this happened.

And what was the first thing she did?

Turn on him.

Even though he really _had_ needed someone to tell him to get over himself. Life was a bitch.

So she might regret having done so—but only a little.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Kurt groaned.

Cotton filled his mouth, and acid sloshed about inside his skull; every tentative movement felt like a crushing blow. He tried to speak, but his overlarge tongue could not form the proper motions.

_What happened?_

He remembered going to bed, then being awoken by a crash in the hall outside his bedroom…Harry had been frantic, fighting against a tall, skeletal mutant with too many pupils in her shocking eyes…

_Oh_.

Memory returned like a great slap to the face, leaving him wheezing breathlessly.

The fighting inside the manor, then the red woman rendering him unconscious…

He sighed. Or tried to, rather, but ended up coughing and wincing as fresh pain sluiced through his body.

"I wouldn't move if I were you."

The female voice was nonchalant, as though having a demonic-looking mutant in the midst of painful throes at her feet was hardly worthy of her attention.

"Wha—" Kurt started coughing again.

"There's a big chemical cocktail in your veins," the young-sounding woman reported cheerfully. "Causes a temporary comatose state and partial paralysis. A bit disorienting, but when it wears off it hurts like fuckin' hell. Oh, I wouldn't suggest trying to teleport and whatnot, either. The nasty shock to the system might kill you, and we can't have that happening."

"Where—"

The woman, still unseen, clicked her tongue reproachfully. "Sorry, sweetie, but I can't tell you that. I'm sure you X-Men know the rules of being a prisoner by now." There was the sound of her getting to her feet, and a small, slender form entered his range of blurry vision. Kurt could vaguely recognize that she had brown hair and wore rather bright clothes, but the fuzziness in his brain could not handle smaller details.

"And now that you're awake, I'm relieved of guard duty," the woman said cheerfully, hand moving in what must have been a mocking salute. "I don't envy you the whopper of a headache you're gonna have."

The elf heard the electronic opening and closing of a door, and finally let out the groan of pain he had been withholding.

_Headache_ was a bit of understatement.

It was quite a while—he estimated a couple hours—before he felt confident enough to lift his head and look about with clearing eyes.

It was an unsurprisingly small cell, just wide and long enough or his to lay stretched out, all four walls and the ceiling made of what appeared to be reinforced fiberglass while the floor was a nondescript, cold white tile. The only light came from the single fluorescent light fixed seamlessly into the shining ceiling, just faint enough so that it did not cast blinding reflections on the reflective surfaces. Kurt thanked God for small mercies.

The pain in his body finally slackened, and the teleporter pushed himself into a sitting position with a wince. A conspicuous absence of weight on his wrist made him realize that his image inducer was gone.

"_Mr. Vaugner_."

"_Zut!_" he yelped, lurching to his feet and spinning around in a vain attempt to find the source of the voice.

"_Welcome, Mr. Vaugner. It is a pleasure to meet you, even if your eyes fail you._"

"Where are you?" he hissed, yellow eyes blazing. The silky words still rebounded eerily in the tiny room, and his sudden movements had made his head spin.

"_I suggest you worry about more important things. Perhaps about your purpose for being here."_

"I vill tell you nutzing!" he growled, accent more pronounced than ever under stress.

"_Admirable sentiments—but they all break in the end."_

"Monster!"

The velvety voice laughed softly. "_You are not the first to call me that, Mr. Vaugner, nor is it the only thing I have been accused of. But you will find, X-Man, that few things are as they truly are. I daresay that Logan would agree with me._"

Kurt almost demanded an explanation on why Logan had been brought into the 'conversation', before realizing that blurting anything out might not be such a good idea.

"What are you talking about?" he bit out angrily.

"_You will find out in due time, Mr. Vaugner. Meanwhile, I want you to consider how you wish to tell me everything you know about the school Professor Xavier built and the mutants within."_

"I don't need to consider," he snarled, fingers curling unconsciously into claws. "I already know. _Fuck you, whore!_"

The silvery laugh returned. "_I'm disappointed in you, Mr. Vaugner. That was little more than cliché; I would have expected more creativity from a student of Logan's_."

Kurt gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached.

"_Before I must take my leave of you, let me leave you with something else to think about. Remember, my little elf, that you are not alone in this. If you continue this puerile wish to remain loyal to Xavier, then know that I will have no other choice but to take out your idiocy on my dear Artemis._"

Artemis?

…_no._

"You leave her alone, vitch!" he cried, falling again into his native accent.

Only silence answered him, and Kurt felt the beginnings of despair creep into his heart.

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The air was shockingly cold compared to the controlled climate of the X-Jet's interior, and the frost-bitten grass beneath their feet crunched loudly.

Harry took a deep breath, enjoying the stinging chill of the atmosphere spiking his lungs and ignoring Rogue's shivering and Kitty's complaining.

"You sure they're here, Professor?" Scott asked incredulously, zipping up his blazer.

"If he weren't, we wouldn't be here," Logan growled, seemingly unperturbed by the dreary grey of their surroundings.

Harry stood a little ways away from their group, sharp eyes scanning the horizon. The ground here was broken up into a slightly rocky terrain of weedy grasses and struggling brush, and just over the farthest hill he could make out the beginnings of a town.

"Maybe Harry knows where we should go," Kitty suggested. "After all, he's from England—aren't you, Harry?"

Feeling a bit of his old vindictiveness, Harry briefly considered telling her no, but shrugged it away.

"Yes."

The place nearly reeked of magic, and Harry was slightly distracted by the sensation of magic constantly shifting and morphing around him and beneath his feet.

"There's a leyline near here," he said clearly, drawing the others into silence as he spoke. "I recognize this place."

"Leyline?" Jean asked.

"Center of magic," he explained shortly. "An area or a path where natural magic is drawn."

"Can you find out where they are?"

"I don't know." It seemed logical enough; Harry had had to perform location spells before to find lost witches and wizards. Unfortunately, they could be unreliable, and while Harry had grown into more power than either Dumbledore or Voldemort—_or Merlin_, some even whispered—he was hardly omnipotent. They were also known to find things related to the caster's query, but utterly unhelpful; while once trying to find Draco, he had instead been led to the place where the two had last had sex.

"_Mind in the gutter, mate?" Ron snickered at a furiously blushing Harry._

"_Under different circumstances, I would have taken enough points from Gryffindor for improper conduct to leave it mired in negative numbers until you grew too old to even consider such depravity," Snape murmured dryly. Dumbledore and Hermione just smiled._

"I can try, though."

"What do you have to do?" Scott looked nervous, and Harry wondered if the other male was imagining blood sacrifices and evil rituals.

"A map of England and a pendulum."

_My sanity would be nice, too._

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

I am SOOO sorry for taking so long to update! Life has been nothing but a bitch to me for the last... year or so... Anyways, I must that you faithful viewers for reviewing! You are the reason that I finally got off my ass and updated. I will let ya'll know right now that I will most likely start to add some of X-Men 3 in here, cause that was the most BEAUTIFUL killing spree of main characters I have EVER seen! If you haven't seen it yet, please disregard that last line... I will try to have the next one up in the next month or so... Sorry!

Thanks to the following for reviewing: TheHufflepunk, **darkchildlover**, DeadRoses, **Twin Tails Speed**, Letifer, **Bratcat**, TanyaPotter, **emeraud.silver**, jka1, **Tmctflyboy**, Marikili68, **hittocerebattosai**, and IvySnowe! And if I forgot you: **THANKS A BUNCH!**


	11. Go Where You Wanna Go

I can't believe that I made it to the eleventh chapter… Though from here on out, it _will_ sound quite a bit different. And I will warn you right now, I am _VERY _bad at writing fight scenes. I will try my best to make them as good as Hades' does them, though I am not promising anything. And I really don't know that much about the current villains, so they will be dieing soon. Just so that you know… I know more about Voldie than the Black or White Queens… Even the Internet didn't help. Any help you would like to give me would be happily accepted.

* * *

_"This is a time to stand together, the American people as one…"_

Xavier was worried.

Two powerful and influential mutants were sabotaging their own kind's chances at peace with the humans; two of the students he had promised to protect had been stolen right from under his defenses, and another was in critical condition; his X-Men had just left to travel nearly half-way around the world to rescue the two aforementioned students with a boy they had hardly known for two weeks that was potentially insane and/or possessed by the spirit of a former Dark Lord that had killed thousands.

And he had no idea what to do.

"Prof'ssor?"

The tiny voice made him look up wearily from where he had been resting his head in his hands and listening vaguely to the president's address, finding a dark, curly head that barely came over the edge of his desk. Bright almond eyes gazed at, wide and scared.

"…_we cannot discriminate on our mutant brethren. This great nation was founded to be free of prejudice and hatred, and just as the feminist and civil rights movements…"_

"Prof'ssor?" Apollo ventured a second time, immediately chewing on his baggy sleeve.

Xavier smiled for real, his heart softening at the innocent little boy's attitude. "Yes, Apollo?"

"Where's Missy?" His voice was muffled by the cloth.

The psychic sighed. "Artemis is gone for now, but Scott and the others have gone to get her back safe and sound."

"Wha' 'bout Harry?"

_What about him, indeed?_ "He went with them. They'll be back as soon as they can, all right?" he said cheerfully. Apollo smiled tentatively back.

"'Kay," he murmured. He stood for a moment, shifting from foot to foot, before suddenly dashing out of the oak-and-mahogany office.

"What about Harry," Xavier repeated softly, moving his chair so that he faced the window, where the sky had developed the delicate blue of early morning. He had not forgotten the malevolent presence in Harry's mind that had caused the danger room to malfunction and the boy to react so violently, the sly serpentine voice that had hissed and purred with cruelty and malice coloring its very tones. But the fact that Kurt and Artemis had evidently appeared in England—_too much of a coincidence to be one_—meant that Harry, with both his magic and the island being his native birthplace, also had the best chances of finding the two as quickly as possible.

That was why he had decided to ignore his common sense and allowed the obviously unstable boy to leave with the X-Men. All of his trust now lay in two directions; in Harry, to control the dark entity in his mind, and in his beloved X-Men, to be able to subdue Harry should he fail.

But he could do nothing for them now. No, his efforts must now lay in trying to divine the Queens' plans, and stopping them.

"…_we must hold together, or we will devolve into a country of hate and bloodshed…"_

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"A map of England and a pendulum."

Harry rolled his eyes at the blank looks he received from the mutants.

"We don't have either of those," Jean said finally. "We'll have to go to that town over there." She pointed in the direction that Harry had noted as bearing civilization.

"But we don't have any English dollar-money," Kitty pointed out. Rogue sneered.

"It's _pounds_, dear. Not _dollar-money_."

Harry kneeled on the frozen ground and dug into his pockets. He had gone back to wearing the Dark Sorcerer robes, and thus several weapons, potions vials, and other such items found their way to the ground in front of him.

"Damn, kid, you've a whole military," Logan muttered, earning a dirty look.

Harry sorted through the mess, not looking back up as he spoke. "I have only limited supplies. Various healing potions, mostly, and a few poisons. Some fresh clips…" He slammed a clip into a small pistol and tossed it at Kitty, who caught it with a squeal.

"Hey! Like, I don't know how to use this!"

The wizard looked at her incredulously. "You don't?"

"We only use our own powers," Jean said, a little frostily. "And we don't kill."

Harry leveled his brilliant green eyes on her, expression flat and cold, and growled, "So in all the time you X-Men have been fighting against the scary bad guys, you've never lost your powers or had them used against you?"

"Well…"

"You'll learn to use it, Kitty. This way, the enemies you defeated once won't come back to bite you in the arse," he interrupted, turning back to the contents of his robes. "I've only a few Galleons and Sickles. No pounds." He sat back on his heels.

**Glamour, dear.**

**What?**

**Use a glamour charm,** Chatoyant snickered into his mind. **They're muggles, they won't notice till we're long gone.**

A mischievous grin spread over Harry's face, a rare occurrence the last several years. **You're brilliant, my beautiful and wise familiar.**

She preened.

"_Glamourie,_" he whispered. He had picked up several dead leaves, and the spell caused them to shimmer until they flawlessly resembled twenty-pound notes.

"Now," he said with a smirk, "who's coming with me into town?"

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

The beeping of the heart monitor and the quiet humming of the electroencephalograph were reassuring in the otherwise stark silence of the infirmary.

Ororo hovered by the bedside of her comatose nephew. His labored breathing was faint and shallow, his body motionless save for the slight rise and fall of his chest.

"Oh, Evan," she sighed, quiet voice seeming abnormally loud. In a motherly fashion she reached up and gently brushed her fingers over the boy's dark brow, "I'm so sorry."

"How is he?"

The tall woman slid gracefully to her feet as Xavier entered. A sad smile flitted about her lips. "He's been stabilized. Hank's prototype anti-venom stopped the spread of the poison, but has not eliminated it. He's working on a stronger strain, before…before it is too late for Evan."

Xavier remained silent; there was nothing to say.

"The X-Men have left?" she continued after a moment of silence.

"Yes. They left last night, with Harry. Scott used Cerebro's tracking system to try and predict the destination of Kurt and Artemis, and found it to be somewhere in England."

The self-styled goddess raised a slender brow. "England?"

"Yes," the telepath sighed. "It seems too much of a coincidence, that they should be found in young Mr. Potter's homeland. I wonder if there is something much broader than even we had imagined going on with the Queens and Harry."

"Are you suggesting they are working together?"

"Not at all. I sense only a deep guilt and self-loathing in the boy. If he is indeed working with them, it would be only by distant manipulation of which he would be unaware." He smiled wryly. "Harry is a rather…strong-willed individual to be manipulated so easily."

"Even so—I worry, Charles. I sense that he is inherently a kind soul, but he has been deeply wounded. Even a tame animal can be vicious when it is hurt, Charles."

"I know, Ororo. I can only hope that his past does not catch up to him while they are gone."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

"Ready?"

Jean nodded.

It had been decided that only Jean and Harry would go into town, as too many would draw attention and her ability to sense intent from others could prove useful.

"Before we go, I want you think of an outfit that you would wear if you were going on a hike."

"Pardon?"

"Close your eyes and imagine yourself dressed for a day of hiking," Harry repeated a little irritably.

Confused, the redhead did so.

Harry did as well; then with a muttered incantation and a subtle hand motion, he reopened his eyes.

Both were dressed in casual blue jeans and brown leather boots. Jean's shirt was a white cotton blouse, long-sleeved, and her hair pulled back into a lazy bun. Harry was suddenly clothed in a loose black shirt, his own long hair tied back with a plain elastic.

He looked at Jean with a critical eye.

"Isn't that a little fancy?"

"What, my shirt? Gee, sorry, but living in the middle of Jersey doesn't afford much chance at traipsing about mountains," she sniped.

Harry just waved a dismissive hand airily.

"H-how did you do that?"

He looked curiously at Kitty.

"The-the clothes, they changed, like—"

"Like magic?" he finished dryly. She flushed.

"Well then, since the two of you are gonna have all the fun in town," Rogue began, plucking the pistol from Kitty's hand and cocking it casually with a dark grin, "let's have a bit o' fun of our own."

As Harry and Jean made their way towards the relatively nearby town, Scott muttered, "Rogue, remind me never to piss you off."

XxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxX

Just so you know, I won't be following Hades' notes on how the story _was_ going to be going… I _really_ don't care for most of the things Hades' was going to do… Oh well… Just thought I would give a warning.

PLEASE REVIEW!


	12. Update on story and Poll Announcement

I was given a lovely PM by Sasukefanatic14 that gave me a kick in the rear. ^_^

Thank you to everyone that favorited or alerted this you for enjoying it so much. Believe me, I hate that it's taking me

so long to continue this. I have actually been contemplating re-writing it again. I lost my computer that had the plot and

subsequent next 2 chapters a year or so ago, and just haven't been able to remember where it was I was going with it. I was thinking

about going back and making Remy more of a character in it, along with changing some major plot holes I know of. Sad to say that I

lost the calendar I had made of what events happened when... That totally messed me up. So now I have to ask... If I re-write it

severely different, do you think that you would read it? I have posted a poll on my page for you to take. Please let me know how

you, the readers, would take this. And if you have any suggestions on where you think this should go, or even how I should change it

(a lot or even a little) PLEASE let me know in a review!


End file.
